f 


■I 


tihvaxy  of  Che  t:heolo0ical  ^tmimxy 

PRINCETON  •  NEW  JERSEY 


PRESENTED  BY 

Rober t  _  R  •^  G-D_Qclr 

BX  9178  .H35  15  1892 
Hall,  Charles  Cuthbert, 

1852-1908. 
Into  His  marvellous  light 


'^/?^^       L^^tJiA.-^ 


INTO   HIS  MARVELLOUS 
LIGHT 


^tutJie^  in  life  ana  25dief 


CHARLES  CUTHBERT  HALL,  D.  D. 

MINISTER  OF  THE   FIRST   PRESBYTERIAN   CHURCH 
OF   BROOKLYN,   N.  Y. 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

^be  BitersiDe  ^ns^,  CambriOge 

1S92 


Copyright,  1S91, 
By  CHARLES   CUTHBERT  HALL. 

All  rights  reserved. 


Tke  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Company. 


TO 

THE  MEMBERS  OF  MY  CONGREGATION, 

IN    THE     FIFTEENTH    YEAR 

OF  OUR  FELLOWSHIP  IN 

THE    GOSPEL 

OP   JESUS   CHRIST. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I.   Into  His  Marvellous  Light 1 

II.   Christ  the  Pillar  of  Light 19 

III.  The  Limitations  of  Law .  35 

IV.  The  Joys  that  are  purchased  by  Sorrow  53 
V.  The  Element  op  Silence  in  Personal  Re- 
ligion   71 

VI.   The  Ministry  of  Changes 89 

VII.   The  Embrace  of  God 105 

VIII.   The  Perspective  of  Right  Living      .     .    .  123 

IX.  The  Benediction  of  the  Risen  Lord  .  .  141 
X.   The  Unforgotten  Labourers 159 

XI»  The  Gift  of  Adversity 177 

XII.   The  Splendid  Ideal 195 

XIII.  The  Mountain-Climb  of  Life    .....  213 

XIV.  Christ's  Knowledge  of  our  Sincerity  .     .  231 
XV.   The  Retrospect  of  Trial 247 

XVI.   The  Faithful  Companion 265 

XVII.  Forbearance 283 

XVIII.   The  Recognition  of  Departed  Greatness  301 

XIX.   The  Glory  of  Young  Men 317 

XX.   The  Interpreter 337 


I. 

INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT. 


I. 

INTO   HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT. 

"  luto  His  marvellous  light."  —  1  Peter  ii.  9. 

He  who  Tvould  attain  great  things  must  first 
beheve  o-reat  thino^s.  ''  To  him  that  hath  shall 
be  given,  and  he  shall  have  more  abundantly." 
Great  lives  can  be  traced  back  to  great  aspira- 
tions, lo'iioble  and  barren  ideas  of  life  do  not 
produce  rich  and  fruitful  lives.  Men  do  not 
gather  gTapes  from  thorns  nor  figs  from  this- 
tles. Those  who  in  any  calling  accomplish  the 
higher  possibilities  of  that  calling  are  those 
who  from  the  first  have  realized  that  those 
higher  possibilities  exist.  The  water  of  the 
stagnant  pool  has  no  energy  to  rise.  The 
stream  that  comes  boundino;  from  the  mountain 
has  in  itself  power  to  bound  heavenward  again 
in  the  fountain.  Mountains  and  fountains  are 
essentially  related.  High  springs  are  the  birth- 
places of  vigorous  powers.  In  all  legitimate 
callino's  he  who  succeeds  is  he  who  has  had 
high  conceptions  of  success.  In  the  Chris- 
tian callino^  this  is  true.     The  oreat  Christian 


4  INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT. 

lives  have  felt  from  the  beginning  that  Chris- 
tian life  is  great ;  that  the  light  into  which 
the  Lord  calls  us  is  no  "  common  light  of  clay," 
but,  indeed,  "  His  marvellous  light." 

I  would  speak  to  you  of  some  glorious  pos- 
sibilities of  Christian  experience.  "Into  His 
marvellous  light."  By  each  of  the  three  chief 
apostles,  John,  Paul,  and  Peter,  the  splendid 
possibilities  of  Christian  experience  were  fully 
realized.  Each  has  described,  by  a  character- 
istic title,  Christian  experience  as  it  looked  to 
him.  John  calls  it  "  the  everlasting  life  ;  "  ^ 
Paul  calls  it  "  the  glorious  liberty  ;  "  ^  Peter 
calls  it  "  the  marvellous  light."  ^  We  are  not 
surprised  to  find  these  men  becoming  great 
Christians,  when  their  views  of  Christian  expe- 
rience were  so  high  and  wide  and  great.  They 
saw  the  greatness  of  their  calling,  — 

"  And  by  the  vision  splendid 
(Were)  on  (their)  way  attended." 

They  tried  to  live  out  toward  the  measure  of 
life's  possibilities.  In  this  they  were  not  alone. 
Many  have  done  the  same,  many  are  now  do- 
ing the  same,  —  believing  great  things  and  al- 
ways living  toward   great  things.     To  us  the 

1  St.  John  iii.  16,  36  ;  iv.  14  ;  v.  24  ;  vi.  27,  40,  47. 

2  Rom.  Yiii.  21, 

3  1  Pet.  ii.  9. 


INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT.  5 

Christian  life  has  not  grown  dull,  formal,  con- 
ventional. It  has  grown  newer  and  greater ;  in 
spite  of  all  the  many  things  in  our  common 
existence  to  hold  one  back,  and  keep  one  down, 
and  beat  out  one's  courage,  and  blunt  one's 
spiritual  perception,  and  "  call  the  glory  from 
the  gray,"  the  Christian  callmg  is  to-day  God's 
marvellous  light,  more  wonderful  ever  as  the 
years  pass,  lighting  up  along  the  avenues  of 
our  experience  glorious  possibilities  of  know- 
ledge, of  direction,  of  endowment,  of  support. 

Whoever  is  led  to  some  particularly  lumi- 
nous and  happy  word  wherewith  to  describe  a 
great  experience  earns  the  thanks  of  all  whose 
privilege  it  may  afterwards  be  to  share  that 
experience.  He  thus  becomes  a  voice  through 
which  many  souls  utter  themselves.  We  thank 
the  Apostle  Peter  for  his  description  of  the 
Christian  calling.  That  word,  "  into  His  mar- 
vellous light,"  tells  magnificently  what  they 
find  that  calling  to  be  who  realize  its  possi- 
bilities. 

Truly  God's  marvellous  Hght !  How  mar- 
vellous this  lio'ht  in  contrast  with  darkness  ! 
—  "  Who  hath  called  you  out  of  darkness  into 
His  marvellous  light."  Contrast  the  situation, 
the  moral  atmosphere,  the  motives,  the  high 
and  holy  enjoyments,  the  goodly  fellowships, 


6  INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT. 

the  eternal  consolations,  the  brilliant  destiny  of 
one  who  walks  and  lives  in  God's  marvellous 
light,  with  the  situation,  the  atmosphere,  the 
motives,  the  pleasures,  the  fellowships,  the  des- 
tiny of  one  who  walks  in  bestial,  profligate, 
sensual  darkness. 

How  marvellous  this  light  in  contrast  with 
the  cold  twilight  of  commonplace,  conventional 
experience  1  All  the  difference  lies  between 
them  that  lies  between  one  of  our  most  sullen, 
humid,  relaxing,  sunless  winter  days  and  one 
of  our  dry,  clear,  buoyant,  glorified  and  glori- 
fying mornings  of  the  early  summer.  They 
who  have  lived  in  the  twilight  of  conventional 
religion,  acknowledging  the  routine,  but  dis- 
cerning nothing  in  the  substance  of  their  faith 
to  excite  wonder  or  joy,  cannot  conceive  the 
exhilarating  happiness  of  the  higher  Christian 
experience  Avhen  the  liberty  is  really  "glori- 
ous," and  the  sight  is  really  "  marvellous." 

But  we  wish  to  examine  in  detail  some  of 
those  glorious  possibilities  of  experience  which 
may  unfold  themselves  to  one  and  another  who 
are  called  of  God's  Spirit  into  His  marvellous 
light.  We  wish  to  point  out  how  in  a  glad 
and  clear  Christian  experience  we  may  be  made 
far  richer  and  completer  than  we  were  before. 
And  I  know  of  no  better  way  to  illustrate  our 


INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT.  7 

theme  than  to  bring  forward  four  types  of  ex- 
perience which  were  realized  respectively  by 
four  great  lives  at  moments  when  they  stood 
peculiarly  unshadowed  in  His  marvellous  light. 
Their  experience,  unique  for  each  one  of  them 
in  respect  of  the  circumstances  which  attended 
it,  furnishes,  in  respect  of  the  power  realized  in 
it,  incalculable  encouragement  and  hope  to  the 
Christian  of  to-day  who  is  walking  in  the  light, 
as  Christ  is  in  the  light. 

Peter,  Paul,  John,  and  Stephen,  each  in  his 
own  life,  met  an  hour  when  he  realized  espe- 
cially the  blessing  of  the  marvellous  light,  and 
when  his  experience  therein  created  a  magnifi- 
cent suggestion  and  encouragement  for  us. 
Peter's  supreme  experience  of  the  marvellous 
lioiit  was  on  the  mountain  of  the  Transfio^u- 
ration  ;  ^  Paul's  was  on  the  road  to  Damascus  ;  ^ 
John's  was  on  the  island  of  Patmos ;  ^  Stephen's 
was  in  Jerusalem,  at  the  hour  of  his  intense 
trial  and  his  victorious  death.*  Each,  in  his 
special  hour  of  marvellous  light,  discovered  a 
glorious  possibility  of  Christian  experience. 
AVhen  he  stood  unshadowed  in  the  marvellous 
light,  Peter  realized  the  meaning  of  spiritual 
knowledge  ;  Paul  realized  the  meaning  of  spir- 

1  St.  Matt.  xvii.  1-9.  2  Acts  ix.  1-8. 

3  Rev.  i.  10-20.  *  Acts  vi.  8-vii.  60. 


8  INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT. 

itual  direction ;  John  realized  the  meaning  of 
spiritual  endowment;  Stephen  realized  the 
meaning  of  spiritual  support. 

Peter,  with  the  sons  of  Zebedee,  stands  be- 
fore the  Lord  on  the  mountain  top,  called  with- 
out warning  into  His  marvellous  light.  An 
utterly  new  conception  of  the  Person  of  Christ 
is  imparted  to  him  in  that  hour.  He  sees  the 
fashion  of  his  Master's  countenance  altered,  His 
face  shining  as  the  sun,  His  raiment  white  and 
glistening ;  and^  under  the  power  of  emotions 
he  can  neither  resist  nor  control,  he  realizes 
the  meaning  and  the  influence  of  spiritual 
knowledge.  Behold  the  new  conflict  of  feel- 
ings within  him.  He  is  afraid,  sorely  afraid, 
bowed  to  the  earth  beneath  the  overshadowing 
cloud,  beneath  the  sense  of  unfathomable  mys- 
tery, beneath  the  lustre  of  Omnipotent  glory. 
Yet  he  is  also  at  peace.  With  the  greater  mys- 
tery has  come  a  new-born  calmness,  a  sense  of 
having  been  admitted  to  something  greater 
than  the  world  can  give,  and  although  he  meas- 
ures not  his  words,  nor  hardly  knows  what  they 
are,  a  new  created  consciousness  of  the  blessed- 
ness of  the  new  knowledge  forces  from  him  the 
confession,  "  It  is  good  to  be  here." 

His  experience  is  indeed  unique  in  respect 
of  the  circumstances  attending  it ;  but  the  sub- 


INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT.  9 

stance  of  Peter's  experience  in  that  marvellous 
light  of  the  Transfiguration  is  essentially  the 
experience  of  all  of  us  who,  called  from  dark- 
ness into  light,  are  finding  out  the  meaning  and 
the  influence  of  spiritual  knowledge.  How  un- 
like is  the  actual  influence  upon  us  of  spiritual 
knowledo'e  to  that  which  we  once  imagfined  it 
to  be!  At  the  beginning  of  our  Christian  life 
we  may  have  thought  that  the  sense  of  mystery 
in  connection  with  spiritual  knowledge  would 
pass  away  as  we  grew  older,  and  that  all  things 
would  become  plain  to  us.  At  the  beginning 
there  were  many  things  we  could  not  under- 
stand ;  but,  we  thought,  "  I  shaU  understand 
all  presently."  How  different  has  been  the  real 
influence  of  advancing  spiritual  knowledge  !  If 
the  Lord  has  called  us,  with  advancing  years, 
still  farther  into  His  marvellous  light ;  if,  as 
He  gave  to  Peter  a  new  and  more  magnificent 
view  of  the  Person  of  Christ  and  of  the  relation 
of  the  law  and  the  prophets  to  Christ,  He  has 
also  given  us  brighter  and  fuller  vision  of  the 
Lord;  it  is  no  more  true  of  us  than  it  was 
true  of  Peter,  that  the  sense  of  mystery  has 
passed  away  under  the  brighter  vision  of  the 
truth.  No !  with  the  marvellous  lio;ht  has 
come  to  us,  as  to  him,  the  marvellous  cloud, 
the  more  overwhelming  sense  of  the  infinite- 


10  INTO  HIS   MARVELLOUS  LIGHT. 

ness,  the  unfatliomableness  of  truth ;  of  the 
wonderf uhiess  of  Gocl ;  of  the  tremendousness 
of  the  Divme  purpose ;  of  the  impossibility  of 
comprehending  all  that  God  is,  all  that  God 
means.  Think  not  that  spiritual  knowledge 
means  the  clearing  up  of  mystery;  think  not 
that  spiritual  knowledge  means  the  reduction 
of  the  infinite  truths  of  God  to  the  easy  and 
famihar  terms  of  everyday  life.  Spiritual  know- 
ledge means  to  be  drawn  step  by  step  into  the 
marvellous  light  of  the  glory  of  Chi-ist,  and  in 
that  lio'ht  to  realize  the  overshadowing  cloud  of 
the  infiniteness  of  truth,  till  a  man  sinks  down 
before  his  God  and  worships  w4th  holy  fear. 
But  in  that  fear  is  peace.  Though  each  step 
forward  in  the  marvellous  hght  unfolds  more 
that  overwhelms  us,  more  that  makes  us  feel 
how  little  w^e  are,  and  how  vast  Christ  is,  we 
know  that  here,  and  only  here,  have  we  found 
the  peace  the  world  can  neither  give  nor  take 
away.  Though  pressed  to  the  earth  by  the 
w^eight  of  truth  we  cannot  grasp,  of  knowledge 
we  cannot  attain,  the  consciousness  of  having 
reached  a  nobler  life  burns  within  us,  and  our 
soul  testifies  to  Christ,  ''Lord,  it  is  good  to 
be  here." 

"  Into  His  marvellous  light !  "  Saul  of  Tarsus 
is  pressing  on  his  way,  impassioned  with  a  mis- 


INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT.  H 

taken  purpose.  Suddenly,  without  a  warning, 
he  is  called  out  of  darkness  into  Christ's  mar- 
vellous light.  As  with  a  bolt  from  heaven,  his 
old  life,  his  old  purpose,  his  old  passion,  are 
stricken  to  the  earth.  Out  of  the  wreck  rises 
a  new  man,  blind  to  all  behind  him,  blind  to 
all  around  him,  praying  to  Christ,  "  Show  me 
what  to  do  !  "  It  is  his  crisis,  his  second  birth. 
Standing  unshadowed  in  the  marvellous  light, 
Paul  realizes,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the 
meaning  of  spiritual  direction. 

As  of  Peter,  so  of  Paul,  we  may  say  that  his 
experience  is  indeed  unique,  if  we  regard  only 
the  circumstances  attending  it ;  but  we  know 
that  his  experience  in  its  substance  has  been 
that  of  others  whose  lives  are  brought  to  a 
crisis  in  the  marvellous  light.  Paul  is  by  no 
means  the  only  person  who  has  realized  this 
possibility  of  Christian  experience,  even  the 
full  meaning  of  spiritual  direction ;  who  was 
going  on  in  a  certain  course  which  he  was  sat- 
isfied to  consider  a  right  course  ;  who  was  yield- 
ing himself  up  to  a  purpose  which  he  was  satis- 
isfied  to  call  a  proper  purpose ;  who  resented 
all  criticisms  upon  his  course  and  all  interfer- 
ence with  his  purpose,  till  life  was  brought  to 
a  standstill  by  the  call  of  God,  speaking  out  of 
some  providence  or  shining  out  of  some  truth. 


12  INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT. 

Paul  is  not  the  only  one  who  thought  he  had 
light,  who  persisted  he  had  light,  until  the  light 
came  —  God's  marvellous  light  —  to  show  him 
that  he  had  been  walking  in  darkness.  Paul  is 
not  the  only  one  who  has  been  called  into  the 
marvellous  light  to  reahze  there,  suddenly  and 
fully,  the  necessity  of  giving  to  life  a  total 
change  of  duection,  and  who  has  been  con- 
scious that  that  new  direction  could  not  be 
worked  out  from  the  past,  a  continuance  of  old 
lines ;  but  must  be  a  cutting  and  closing  of  old 
lines  and  a  laying  of  new  lines  taken  straight 
from  Christ  Himself.  Who  that  has  truly  re- 
alized this  experience  of  spiritual  direction,  — 
whether  for  him  it  has  amounted  to  a  total 
change  of  direction  or  has  been  but  a  bringing 
back  to  straightness  of  lines  that  had  grown  lax 
and  crooked,  —  who,  I  say,  has  truly  realized 
this  experience  of  spiritual  direction  without 
looking  back  upon  it  in  wonder  and  thankful- 
ness? How  extraordinary  is  the  revealing 
power  of  that  marvellous  light  when  it  has 
flooded  our  path  in  some  moral  crisis  of  life! 
How  it  divides  the  false  from  the  true,  expos- 
ing, with  its  unpitying  glory,  the  miserableness 
of  our  fallacies,  the  weakness  of  our  self-delu- 
sions ;  how  it  shows  up  the  wrongness  of 
wrong,  till,  though  we  have  long  trained  our- 


INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT.  13 

selves  to  call  evil  good  and  darkness  light,  we 
can  answer  not  a  word !.  Yes,  the  sudden  ac- 
curacy of  the  long  distorted  conscience  in  dis- 
cerning between  good  and  evil ;  the  rapidity 
and  exactness  of  self-conviction ;  the  dissolving 
and  disappearance  of  familiar  shadows  of  con- 
ventional untruths,  —  these  are  the  wondrous 
phenomena  which  attend  the  inrush  of  the 
marvellous  light.  How  extraordinary  and  how 
precious  is  the  directing  power  of  that  marvel- 
lous light  when  it  has  completed  in  us  its  un- 
pitying  work  of  self-revelation !  Like  some 
tremendous  search-light  at  the  mast-head  of  a 
man-of-war,  when  it  has  turned  its  awful  beam 
upon  the  past,  disclosing  the  mistaken  way,  the 
unholy  delusion,  the  vanity,  the  sin,  it  leaves 
that  past  in  darkness,  abandoned  and  forgiven  ; 
it  sweeps  about  and  pours  its  glory  into  the 
future,  streaming  now  upon  a  new  path,  a  new 
way,  a  new  direction,  we  had  not  seen,  disclos- 
ing now  new  meanings,  new  motives,  new  de- 
lights we  had  not  realized. 

"  Into  His  marvellous  light !  "  The  Lord's 
Day  is  spreading  over  Patmos  its  mantle  of 
peace,  where  the  lonely  Apostle  John  waits  the 
fulfilment  of  his  exile.  Perhaps,  even  to  his 
obedient  soul,  the  sense  of  the  fruitlessness  of 
his  Hfe  is  weighing  upon  him.     Certainly,  for 


14  INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT. 

his  eagle  spirit,  it  must  have  been  a  bitter  thing 
to  be  caged  on  that  silent  rock,  when  his  soul 
burned  to  speak  a  Hving  word  to  a  dying 
world.  Beheving,  as  I  do,  that  the  Revelation 
of  John  is  earlier  in  time  than  the  Gospel  or 
the  Epistles  of  John,  you  will  see  that  as  yet 
he  had  written  nothing  of  that  truth  which 
none  could  write  so  well  as  he.  On  that  still 
Sunday  morning,  as  he  walks  and  thinks,  a 
Voice  speaks  behind  him  :  "  I  am  Alpha  and 
Omega."  He  turns,  and  finds  himself  standing 
in  the  marvellous  light.  And  out  of  the 
Hglit  comes  the  charge,  the  sevenfold  charge : 
"  Write,  write,  write  the  things  which  thou 
hast  seen,  and  the  things  which  are,  and  the 
thinofs  which  shall  be  hereafter."  Where  is 
now  the  loneliness  of  the  exile  ?  W  here  is  now 
the  sense  of  the  f ruitlessness  of  Hfe  ?  Gone, 
forever  gone.  For  the  apostle  has  received  his 
messaofe.  In  the  marvellous  lioht  John  has 
learned  the  meaning  of  spiritual  endowment. 
Henceforth  life  can  have  for  him  no  indefinite- 
ness,  no  scattering  indirection.  He  has  had 
his  orders  from  his  King.  His  life-work  is  laid 
upon  him. 

Is  he  alone  in  this  ?  Is  he  realizing  a  possi- 
bility of  spiritual  experience  which  none  of  us 
may  reahze  ?     Yes,  alone,  if  you  look  but  on 


INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT.  15 

the  circumstances  amidst  which  he  received  his 
message  ;  alone,  if  you  think  but  of  the  audi- 
ble and  visible  phenomena  of  that  glorious 
hour,  —  the  voice  that  mingled  with  the  sound 
of  thundering  waves,  the  glittering  girdle,  the 
illustrious  countenance  "  as  the  sun  that  shineth 
in  its  strength."  ^  But  not  alone,  if  you  think 
of  the  substance  of  his  experience  rather  than 
of  its  form.  He  is  but  one  of  many  whom 
God  has  called  into  His  marvellous  light,  that 
He  might  give  them  a  message,  to  write  or 
to  speak  or  to  live,  for  His  sake  and  for  man's 
sake.  He  is  but  one  of  many  who  know  what 
it  is  to  have  heard  a  Divine  call  summoning 
them  to  the  consecration  of  life,  for  the  utter- 
ance of  the  truth  and  love  of  Christ ;  to  utter 
that  truth  by  a  faithful,  constant,  self-denying 
service  ;  to  utter  it  by  a  pure  and  gentle  min- 
istry of  influence,  in  their  own  homes,  in  their 
own  social  sphere,  in  the  manifold  labors  of  the 
church  of  Christ,  Happy  are  they  who  can  in 
any  sense  be  conscious  of  having  been  called 
into  the  marvellous  light  of  Christ,  and  of  hav- 
ing there  received  a  spiritual  endowment,  —  a 
call,  a  charge,  a  message  from  Him  Who  has 
had  prophets  and  apostles  as  His  willing  mes- 
sengers. Can  you  feel  that  Christ  has  given 
1  Rev.  i.  13,  lo,  16. 


16  INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT. 

you  anything  to  do  ?  Can  you  feel  that  He 
has  laid  any  charge  upon  your  life?  given 
you  aught  to  tell  or  show,  in  speech  or  silence 
to  your  fellowmen;  aught  to  make  plainer  to 
the  eyes  that  do  not  see  His  marvellous  light  ? 
Be  thankful,  for  in  this  you  are  treading  near 
to  the  very  holiest  ground  man  has  ever  been 
permitted  to  tread ! 

"  Into  His  marvellous  lis'ht !  "  As  one  who 
stands  tied  to  a  stake,  in  the  rising  tide  which 
must  soon  cover  him,  Stephen,  the  first  of  the 
deacons,  stands  in  the  rising  tide  of  hatred 
and  malignity  which  must  soon  sweep  away  his 
life.  It  is  an  awful  hour,  of  fierce  and  unre- 
lenting strain  ;  immediate  expectation  of  bod- 
ily pain,  and  of  the  mystery  of  death.  With 
irrepressible  curiosity  the  eyes  of  all  the  coun- 
cil are  fastened  on  him  to  see  if  he  will  break 
or  stand  under  the  strain.  "  And  looking  stead- 
fastly on  him  they  saAV  his  face  as  it  had  been 
the  face  of  an  angel."  Why  does  he  not  break 
under  the  supreme  strain  of  his  life?  What 
is  that  light  upon  his  face  ?  It  is  His  marvel- 
lous light,  the  same  that  Peter  had  seen,  and 
the  same  that  John  and  Paul  were  yet  to  see. 
"  They  looked  steadfastly  on  him."  "  But  he, 
being  full  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  looked  up  stead- 
fastly into  heaven,  and   saw  the  glory  of  God, 


INTO  HIS  MARVELLOUS  LIGHT.  17 

and  Jesus  standing*  on  the  right  hand  of  God." 
In  that  marvellous  light  he  realized,  in  the  hour 
when  he  would  most  have  desired  to  realize  it, 
the  full  meaning  of  spiritual  support.  When 
the  stones  were  raining  upon  him,  he  was  pray- 
ing '^  Lord  Jesus,  receive  my  spirit."  When  the 
cries  of  madness  were  raised  about  him,  he  was 
interceding,  "  Lord,  lay  not  this  sin  to  their 
charge."  When  the  climax  of  confusion  was 
bursting  over  him,  "  he  fell  asleep."  What  was 
his  secret  ?  What  could  raise  him  so  far  above 
his  circumstances  ?  What  could  keep  him  in 
perfect  peace  through  all  that  bitter  storm  ?  It 
was  that  possibility  of  Christian  experience 
which  is  within  the  reach  of  all  who  are  standing 
in  His  marvellous  light.  Spiritual  support :  the 
grace  that  still  keeps  us  from  breaking,  when 
the  strain  has  reached  the  breaking-point ;  the 
power  that  still  renews  trust  and  love  and  hope 
when  untoward  circumstances  have  hedged  us 
in  and  bound  us  fast ;  the  love  that  shall  still 
hold  us  fast  with  Everlasting  Arms,  till  we  fall 
into  the  blessed  sleep,  entering  eternally  into 
His  marvellous  light !    Amen. 


11. 

CHRIST  THE  PILLAR  OF  LIGHT. 


II. 

CHEIST  THE  PILLAR  OF    LIGHT. 
Preached  on  Easter  Day,  1891. 

"  I  am  the  light  of  the  world  :  he  that  followeth  Me  shall 
not  walk  in  darkness,  but  shall  have  the  light  of  life."  —  John 
viii.  12. 

A  LIGHT.  A  moving  light.  A  man  follow- 
ing a  moving  light.  And  so  my  theme,  this 
Easter  morning,  is  and  must  be  "  Christ  the 
Pillar  of  Lio^ht."  For  this  is  what  He  means 
when  He  says :  "  I  am  the  light  of  the  world : 
he  that  followeth  Me  shall  not  walk  in  dark- 
ness, but  shall  have  the  light  of  life."  It  was 
the  Feast  of  Tabernacles,  commemorating  the 
journey  through  the  wilderness.  In  the  court 
of  the  women  were  blazing  the  great  candela- 
bra lighted  in  memory  of  the  pillar  of  fire. 
Christ  mounts  the  memory,  and  speaks  from  it 
as  from  a  throne.  "  I  am  the  light  of  the 
world  :  he  that  followeth  Me  shall  not  walk  in 
darkness,  but  shall  have  the  light  of  life."  He 
loved  to  mount  the  greater  memories  of  Israel, 
and  to  speak  from  them  as  from  thrones.  His 


22  CHRIST   THE  PILLAR    OF  LIGHT. 

own  kingshij)  over  the  lives  of  men.  Is  it  the 
hoary  memory  of  Abraham,  the  father  of  the 
faithful  ?  Like  a  king  He  says :  "  Before 
Abraham  was,  I  am."  ^  Is  it  the  memory  of 
the  manna  in  the  desert  ?  Like  a  king  He 
says :  "  Your  fathers  did  eat  manna  in  the  wil- 
derness, and  are  dead.  This  is  the  bread  which 
cometh  down  from  heaven,  that  a  man  may  eat 
thereof,  and  not  die."  ^  Is  it  the  memory  of 
the  water  pouring  from  the  smitten  rock  ?  Like 
a  king  He  says :  "  If  any  man  thirst,  let  him 
come  unto  Me,  and  drink."  ^  This  morning  He 
speaks  to  us  from  the  pillar  of  light.  He 
mounts  that  memory,  and  utters  Himself  from 
it,  as  from  a  throne.  "  I  am  the  light  of  the 
world :  he  that  f oUoweth  Me  shall  not  walk  in 
darkness,  but  shall  have  the  light  of  life." 

When,  looking  back  to  the  desert  of  the 
exodus,  we  consider  this  memory,  Israel's  pil- 
lar of  light,  we  find,  on  reflection,  four  reasons 
Avhy,  in  the  glorious  field  of  resurrection  truth, 
it  becomes  a  worthy  symbol  of  the  risen  Lord.^ 
Fii'st,  there  was  light.  Second,  there  was  mov- 
ing light.  Third,  there  was  the  lighting  of 
the  way.  Fourth,  there  was  the  lighting  of 
the  follower. 

1  St.  Jno.  viii.  58.  2  gt.  Jno.  vi.  49,  50. 

8  St.  Jno.  vii.  37.  "*  Ex.  xiii.  20-22. 


CHRIST   THE  PILLAR   OF  LIGHT.  23 

First,  there  was  light.  Light  in  the  pillar 
itself.  It  was  not  the  glory  of  the  sunset  fall- 
ing on  it,  and  painting  it  with  transitory  color ; 
it  was  not  the  glory  of  the  moon,  pouring  over 
its  surface  a  sheen  as  of  burnished  silver.  The 
light  was  the  immanent  substance  of  the  pillar ; 
the  glory  was  an  underived  glory,  proceeding 
from  itself.  Whilst  the  common  light  of  day 
remained,  the  pillar  was  a  pillar  of  cloud,  the 
stately  witness  of  its  own  continuance;  but 
when  darkness  overspread  the  wilderness,  when 
landmarks  vanished,  and  peril  ambushed  itself 
in  shadow  on  every  hand,  then  the  heart  of 
that  cloudy  shrine  disclosed  its  interior  and 
immanent  glory,  pouring  light  out  upon  the 
darkness. 

Second,  there  was  moving  light.  Onward 
moved  the  pillar,  telling  them  the  wilderness 
was  not  their  home.  Onward,  ever  onward, 
from  encampment  to  encampment,  from  stage 
to  stage ;  from  palm-shadowed  Elims  of  re- 
pose ;  from  sultry  deserts  of  scarcity ;  from 
hard-fought  fields  of  battle,  —  still  the  light 
moved  out 

Third,  there  was  the  lighting  of  the  way. 
It  was  a  perpetual  revelation.  Hour  by  hour 
new  features  of  the  wilderness  disclosed  them- 
selves to  the  march  of  light.     Paths  before  un- 


24  CHRIST   THE  PILLAR   OF  LIGHT. 

known  were  revealed  beneath  that  searchino* 
glory.  Precipices  unsuspected  were  thrown 
out  of  shadow.  Ambushes  were  unmasked, 
and  safety  travelled  in  the  train  of  light. 

Fourth,  there  was  the  Hghting  of  the  fol- 
lower. The  glory  fell  on  every  follower.  They 
went  through  the  desert  not  like  prowhng  rob- 
bers, hating  detection  ;  beams  from  the  pillar  of 
light  flashed  on  the  vestments  of  priests,  on  the 
spears  of  soldiers,  on  the  trumpets  of  choirs, 
on  the  eager  faces  of  men  and  women.  Walk- 
ing in  the  light,  they  became  an  army  of  light. 
He  only  lost  the  Hght  who  ceased  from  follow- 
ing. 

Ask  not,  then,  what  Jesus  meant  when,  stand- 
ing in  the  Temple  court  in  the  Feast  of  Taber- 
nacles commemorating  that  desert  pilgrimage, 
He  called  Himself  the  light  of  the  world.  Ask 
not,  then,  what  Jesus  means  when,  meeting  us 
who  believe  His  resurrection  and  His  risen 
life.  He  says  to  us,  this  Easter  morning,  to 
each  man,  each  woman,  each  youth,  who  will 
receive  His  word :  "  I  am  the  light  of  the 
world  :  he  that  f olloweth  Me  shall  not  walk  in 
darkness,  but  shall  have  the  Hght  of  Hfe." 

"  I  am  the  light  of  the  world,"  —  Christ  the 
pillar  of  light.  "  He  that  followeth  Me,"  — 
Christ  the  moving  pillar  of  light.     "  He  that 


CHRIST  THE  PILLAR   OF  LIGHT.  25 

f ollowetli  me  shall  not  walk  in  darkness,"  — 
Christ  the  moving  pillar  of  light,  lighting  up 
the  way.  "  He  that  f  olloweth  Me  shall  have 
the  light  of  life,"  —  Christ  the  moving  pillar 
of  light,  Hghting  the  follower. 

I.  "  I  am  the  light  of  the  w^orld,"  —  Christ 
the  pillar  of  light.  Christ  is  light,  for  Christ  is 
God.  God  is  light,  and  in  Him  is  no  darkness 
at  all.  Christ  is  God  manifested.  He  is  the 
effulgence  of  His  glory.  "  He  that  hath  seen 
Me  hath  seen  the  Father."  ^  Christ  is  the  liofht 
of  the  world.  Coming  into  the  world  He  has 
brought  in  Simself  a  hght  for  every  man.  The 
Holy  Spirit  is  the  medium,  through  Whom,  as 
through  an  atmosphere,  the  light  is  carried 
into  the  life  of  each  soul.  Whoever  has  the 
Holy  Spirit  dw^elling  in  him  sees  the  light  by 
means  of  the  Spirit.  The  Holy  Spirit  is  not  the 
light  of  the  w^orld ;  even  as  the  atmosphere 
which  transmits  the  sunlio^ht  is  not  the  sun- 
light,  but  is  the  medium  through  which  we 
receive  the  sunlight.  Christ  says :  '  I  am 
the  lio:ht  of  the  world."  Christ  is  not  the 
reflection  of  a  light,  as  sometimes  the  win- 
dows of  a  house  blaze  with  the  reflection  of 
the  sunset.  He  is  the  light.  The  pillar  of 
light  in  the  desert  was  not  bright  with  the 

^  St.  Jno.  xiv.  9. 


26  CHRIST   THE  PILLAR   OF  LIGHT. 

reflection  of  sunset^  nor  with  the  reflection  of 
moonbeams.  Its  interior  and  immanent  sub- 
stance was  light.  It  was  the  underived  source 
of  light.  It  gave  light  where  there  was  no 
light.  So  is  Christ  the  pillar  of  light.  Light 
is  the  immanent  and  underived  substance  of 
His  being.  It  is  impossible  to  walk  in  the  un- 
shaded presence  of  the  sun's  rays  and  not  be 
in  the  light.  It  is  impossible  to  walk  in  the 
unshaded  presence  of  Christ  and  not  be  in  the 
Hght ;  for  He  is  the  light ;  therefore  He  says, 
with  the  positiveness  of  one  who  formulates  an 
axiom  :  "  He  that  foUoweth  Me  shall  not  walk 
in  darkness."  This  truth  is  the  postulate  of 
this  Easter  messao^e.  It  is  the  truth  assumed  as 
the  formation  of  further  reasoning.  Whoever 
grants  this  postulate,  and  so  receives  Christ  as 
the  underived  and  immanent  light,  is  carried 
already  to  the  conclusions  which  I  have  sug- 
gested. Whoever  cannot  grant  this  postulate, 
whoever  is  unable  thus  to  receive  Christ,  not  as 
a  glorious  reflection  of  some  light  exterior  to 
Himself,  but  as  in  Himself  and  as  of  Himself 
light,  is  unable  to  accept  the  truths  which  rise 
from  this  foundation  and  pile  themselves  up  be- 
fore our  eyes  as  a  pillar  of  light.  I  plead  with 
every  soul  Avhich,  on  this  Easter  morning,  pants 
for  a  more  abundant,  richer  life,  to  grant  this 


CHRIST  THE  PILLAR   OF  LIGHT.  27 

postulate  which  Christ  Himself  pronounces, 
when  He  says  :  "  I  am  the  light  of  the  world." 
n.  '•  I  am  the  light  of  the  world :  he  that 
followeth  Me,"  —  Christ,  the  moving  pillar  of 
light.  The  pillar  of  light  is  not  anchored  in 
the  desert,  to  stand  forever  in  one  place,  a 
wonder  of  the  world,  a  spectacle  to  be  mar- 
velled at  by  gaping  crowds,  or  to  be  ignored 
by  the  absorbed  and  the  indifferent.  It  has  ap- 
peared for  a  purpose :  to  lead  men  on,  shining 
upon  their  way,  and  shining  upon  themselves. 
Therefore  it  moves ;  it  leads  ;  it  adapts  itself 
to  their  necessity,  which  is  the  necessity  of  pro- 
gress. It  goes  before  them  that  they  may  fol- 
low. It  precedes  them  into  all  new  condi- 
tions and  new  scenes,  that  it  may  disclose  those 
conditions  and  illuminate  those  scenes.  So  is 
Christ  the  moving  pillar  of  light.  Whoever 
keeps  with  Him  must  keep  moving.  To  walk 
in  His  liof-ht  is  to  be  a  follower.  Forward  is 
His  watchword,  and  is  ours.  To  go  to  men 
and  lead  them  on  is  still  His  work.  To  all 
among  us,  in  whom  is  His  Holy  Spirit,  reveal- 
ing the  light,  Christ  is  the  moving  pillar  of 
light,  the  light  tliat  ever  goes  on  —  and  on  ; 
that  says  to  us  by  its  own  gloriousness,  "  Fol- 
low Me."  Christ  is  energy  as  well  as  light, 
—  a  light  that  moves  as  well  as  a  hght  that 


28  CHRIST   THE  PILLAR   OF  LIGHT. 

shines.  '"  The  day  spring  from  on  high  hath 
visited  us,  to  give  hght  to  them  that  sit  in 
darkness  and  in  the  shadow  o£  death,  and  to 
guide  our  feet  into  the  way  of  peace."  ^  Be- 
hold with  what  energy  the  pillar  of  light 
moves  when  the  stone  is  rolled  away  from  the 
sepulchre,  and  the  light  becomes  the  light  of 
the  risen  Lord.  Behold  how  in  the  brief  forty 
days  between  the  Resurrection  and  the  As- 
cension He  is  placing  Himself  before  men  to 
lead  them  onward,  to  lead  them  upward.  The 
angel  in  the  sepulchre  testifies  to  the  women 
of  the  moving  pillar  of  light,  saying,  "  He 
goeth  before  you  into  GaHlee :  there  shall  ye 
see  Him."  ^  On  the  Emmaus  road  we  see  the 
moving  pillar  of  light  placing  Himself  in  touch 
with  those  two  sad  lives,  and  shining  upon 
their  way  till  their  own  hearts  burn  with  an- 
swering light.^  On  the  Ascension  morning  we 
see  the  moving  pillar  of  Hght,  leading  them 
out  as  far  as  Bethany,^  and  then  leading  them 
up  in  heart  and  mind  to  that  life  more  mag- 
nificent, — 

"  "Where  the  glory  brightly  clwelleth, 
And  the  new  song  sweetly  swelleth, 
And  the  discord  never  comes." 

And  to-day,  so  far  as  we  reahze  the  concep- 

1  St.  Lk.  i.  78,  79.  -  St.  Mk.  xvi.  7. 

3  St.  Lk.  xxiv.  32.  "*  St.  Lk.  xxiv.  50. 


CHRIST   THE  PILLAR   OF  LIGHT.  29 

tion  of  a  risen  Lord,  Christ  becomes  to  the 
individual  the  moving  pillar  of  light ;  not  a 
glorious  memory,  anchored  in  the  desert  of  the 
past,  not  a  distant  splendor  withdrawn  by  His 
Ascension  to  some  inconceivable  geographical 
remoteness ;  but  a  pillar  of  light,  discerned  not 
now  with  our  fleshly  eyes,  as  Peter  and  John 
discerned  Him,  but  discerned  by  the  revealings 
of  the  Holy  Spirit,  —  a  pillar  of  light  Who  is 
with  us  all  the  days,  and  Who  still  will  lead  us 
on, 

"  O'er  moor  and  fen,  o'er  crag  and  torrent,  till 
The  night  is  gone." 

This  is  the  presence  of  Christ,  the  moving  pil- 
lar of  light.  Who  has  come  to  each  of  us,  as 
He  came  to  those  two  lives  on  the  Emmaus 
road,  to  put  Himself  in  touch  with  our  expe- 
riences, and  continually  to  lighten  our  dark- 
ness. If  changes  come  to  us,  He  has  always 
anticipated  those  changes,  and  moved  into  re- 
lation with  the  new  conditions.  If  our  path 
suddenly  and  sharply  turns  to  adversity,  the 
pillar  of  light  has  moved  into  the  valley  be- 
fore us ;  and  if,  in  seasons  of  awful  pining 
and  repining,  we  seem  driven  through  a  dark, 
tempestuous  sea,  even  there  the  moving  light 
goes  onward,  and  if  we  follow  it,  we  reach  the 
shore  of  peace  again. 


30  CHRIST   THE  PILLAR   OF  LIGHT. 

III.  "  I  am  the  lio-ht  of  the  world :  he  that 
foUoweth  Me  shall  not  walk  in  darkness/'  — 
Christ,  the  moving  pillar  of  light,  lighting  up 
the  way.  "  Thou  wilt  shew  me  the  path  of 
life."^  It  is  nightfall  in  the  wilderness,  and 
every  moment  new  veils  of  darkness  are  wound 
about  the  landscape.  No  natural  hght  of  sun 
or  moon  remains.  Yet  Israel  must  go  forward ; 
the  forced  march  in  the  desert  cannot  be  post- 
poned ;  this  is  not  their  rest.  Then  through 
the  gathering  night  appears  that  opalescent 
pillar,  pouring  forth  the  floods  of  its  interior 
and  immanent  glory.  And  lo !  the  way  ap- 
pears ;  the  darkness  is  smitten  like  the  sea,  and 
through  the  midst  of  gloom  the  moving  pillar 
cuts  a  track  of  glory.  Precipice,  torrent,  am- 
buscade, the  fatal  snares  of  darkness  are  dis- 
armed, and  by  a  way  that  they  knew  not  Israel 
is  led  through  the  night.  "  I  am  the  light  of 
the  world  :  he  that  f  olloweth  Me  shall  not  walk 
in  darkness."  The  moving  pillar  lights  up  the 
way  for  him  who  follows  it.  Life  is  a  forced 
march  through  the  desert,  and  has  its  hours  of 
mingled  necessity  and  fear,  when  natural  light 
fails  us  at  every  step,  when  the  gathering  veils 
of  uncertainty  obscure  the  path  more  and  more 
till  it  becomes  impenetrable,  yet  when  we  know 

1  Ps.  xvi.  11. 


CHRIST   THE  PILLAR   OF  LIGHT.  31 

we  must  go  on.  We  cannot  encamp  at  twilight 
and  wait  till  dawn.  This  is  not  our  rest.  Go 
on  we  must.  Yet  how  to  go,  when  all  is  dark 
before  one ;  when  no  sunny  ray  of  certainty 
falls  upon  the  path ;  when  no  pale  moonbeam 
of  probabiHty  struggles  through  the  shade ; 
when  the  experience  is  unique  and  the  path 
is  untrodden !  It  is  then  the  pillar  of  light  be- 
gins to  shine,  and  slowly  to  move  onward ;  it  is 
then  the  opalescent  glory  begins  to  pour  into 
the  night,  lighting  the  way  up,  inch  by  inch, 
foot  by  foot,  yard  by  yard.  "  He  that  follow- 
eth  Me  shall  not  walk  in  darkness."  Onward 
moves  the  pillar,  but  only  he  who  follows  is 
saved  from  the  darkness.  There  is  a  way  out 
of  every  wilderness,  —  and  there  is  a  pillar  of 
light  to  show  the  way  out.  But  the  condition 
of  guidance  is  to  keep  in  the  presence  of  Christ. 
And  to  keep  in  the  light  is  to  keep  moving,  for 
the  light  moves.  "  He  that  foUoweth  me  shall 
not  walk  in  darkness."  To  cease  from  follow- 
ing is  to  be  left  in  the  dark.  "  For  with  Thee 
is  the  fountain  of  life :  in  Thy  light  shall  we 
see  light."  ^  Jesus  lives  !  Jesus  leads  !  Jesus 
lights  !  To  follow  is  to  see  !  The  pillar  moves. 
Passions,  habits,  perversities  of  judgment,  the 
spirit  of  delay,  fear,  fond  clinging  sins,  — -  these 

^  Ps.  xxxvi.  9, 


32  CHRIST  THE  PILLAR    OF  LIGHT. 

hold  us  back.  Meanwhile  the  pillar  moves. 
There  is  light,  but  light  is  going.  Who  will 
go,  too  ?  Who  will  cry  this  Easter  morning, 
"  Lord,  we  have  left  all  and  have  followed 
thee  ?  "  ^  "  If  any  man  serve  Me,  let  him  fol- 
low Me ;  and  where  I  am,  there  shall  also  My 
servant  be."  ^ 

IV.  "I  am  the  lio^ht  of  the  world :  he  that 
foUoweth  Me  shall  have  the  light  of  life,"  — 
Christ,  the  moving  pillar  of  light,  lighting  up 
the  follower.  It  is  midnight  in  the  desert ; 
rock  ridges  and  sands  are  wrapped  in  common 
gloom ;  wild  beasts,  leaving  their  caves,  prowl 
through  the  waste ;  robbers  crouch  secure,  and 
watch  more  fiercely  than  beasts  for  their  prey. 
Darkness  everywhere  and  on  all  faces,  save 
where  the  people  of  God  are  following  the  pil- 
lar of  light.  The  light  lights  up  the  follow- 
ers ;  on  the  vestments  of  priests,  on  the  spears 
of  soldiers,  on  the  trumpets  of  choirs,  on  the 
faces  of  men  and  w^omen,  the  light  is  falling, 
creating  an  army  of  light.  So  also  Christ,  the 
moving  pillar  of  light,  promises  to  them  that 
follow  Him  another  and  a  greater  thing  than 
guidance,  —  not  only  "  they  shall  not  walk  in 
darkness,"  but  this  also,  "they  shall  have  the 
light  of  life."     It  is  much  to  be  guided  by 

1  St.  Mk.  X.  28.  2  St.  Jno.  xii.  26. 


CHRIST   THE  PILLAR   OF  LIGHT.  33 

light ;  it  is  greater  to  be  glorified  by  light.  It 
is  much  to  see  the  way  by  the  light  that  shines 
from  Him ;  it  is  greater  when  the  light  kindles 
our  own  eyes  till  they,  too,  shine  with  the  light 
that  is  in  His.  He  who  follows  the  light  of 
the  world  becomes  a  light  of  the  world.  He 
who  said,  "  I  am  the  light  of  the  world,"  said 
also,  "  Ye  are  the  light  of  the  world."  ^  For 
the  pillar  of  light,  which  lights  up  the  way  for 
the  folloAver,  lights  up  also  the  follower  in  the 
way.  What  is  likeness  to  Christ?  Likeness 
to  Christ  is  when  the  light  from  the  moving 
pillar  falls  on  the  life  following  close  behind  it, 
till  the  following  life  becomes  also  in  its  way  a 
moving  pillar  of  light.  "  But  we  all,  with  un- 
veiled face  reflecting  as  a  mirror  the  glory  of 
the  Lord,  are  transformed  into  the  same  image 
from  glory  to  glory."  ^ 

"  He  shall  have  the  light  of  life."  Light  is 
an  attribute  of  our  normal  life,  for  God  is  light. 
Sin,  sorrow,  over-pressure,  selfishness,  —  these 
are  the  great  enemies  of  light,  and  so  the  en- 
emies of  a  perfect  life.  Christ  sorrows  over 
our  lost  attributes.  He  has  come  to  give  them 
back.  "  I  am  come  that  they  might  have 
life,  and  that  they  might  have  it  more  abun- 
dantly." ^    To  give  us  back  those  lost  attributes 

1  St.  Matt.  V.  14.  2  2  Cor.  iii.  18,  R.  V. 

3  St.  Jno.  X.  10. 


34  CHRIST   THE  PILLAR    OF  LIGHT. 

of  life,  He  loses  His  own  life  on  the  cross,  and 
takes  it  up  afresh  on  Easter  morning.  The 
conditions  for  the  restoration  of  our  lost  attri- 
butes are  now  all  supplied,  save  one^  and  that 
is  left  with  us  to  supply  :  "  He  that  f olloweth 
Me  shall  have  the  light  of  life."  To  keep  in 
the  presence  of  the  risen  Lord ;  to  follow  the 
moving  pillar  )  to  lay  aside  every  weight  and 
the  sin  which  doth  so  easily  beset  us,  to  run 
with  patience  the  race  set  befoi'e  us,  "  looking 
off  unto  Jesus,  the  author  and  finisher  of  our 
faith,"  ^  that  is  the  restoration  of  the  attribute 
of  hght.  The  glory  of  pureness,  the  glory  of 
patience,  the  glory  of  grand  endeavor,  the  glory 
of  fellowship  with  God,  are  the  hght  that  is  in 
Him ;  if  we  follow,  it  will  fall  on  us,  and  as  He 
is,  so  shall  we  be  in  this  world.     Amen- 

^  Heb.  xii.  2  ;  Gr.  d^opoJvTcs. 


III. 

THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  LAW. 


III. 

THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  LAW. 

**  What  the  law  could  not  do."  —  Romaxs  viii.  3. 

Human  law  is  the  most  majestic  structure 
man  has  reared,  the  most  tremendous  instru- 
ment man  has  wielded.  "  The  law/'  said  Plu- 
tarch, "  is  queen  of  the  gods  and  men."  "  Laws/' 
said  Montesquieu,  '^in  their  most  general  sig- 
nification, are  the  necessary  relations  resulting 
from  the  nature  of  things."  ^  The  impressive- 
ness  of  human  law  becomes  particularly  obvious 
when  we  station  ourselves  at  certain  stand- 
points from  which  to  regard  this  great  fabric. 
For  example  :  Consider  human  law  in  respect 
of  its  foundation  in  the  moral  self-conscious- 
ness of  man.  The  essential  principles  of  law 
are  not  made  by  man.  They  are  discovered  by 
man  as  existing  within  himself.  In  his  own 
moral  self -consciousness  he  finds  the  foundations 
of  law  in  the  primary  intuition  of  right.  He 
has  not  laid  those  foundations :  they  are  laid 
1  Spirit  of  Laws f  Bk.  I.  Cap.  I. 


38  THE  LIMITATIONS   OF  LAW. 

within  him  by  his  Creator.  While  man  is  man, 
law  is  law  in  essence. 

Consider  human  law  in  respect  of  its  ac- 
cord with  ethical  perfection.  The  theory  of 
law  is  the  theory  of  absolute  righteousness. 
The  ideal  of  law  is  an  ideal  right :  that  man 
shall  deal  justly  with  his  fellow-man ;  that 
none  shall  go  beyond  and  defraud  his  brother 
in  any  matter ;  that  every  individual  shall 
enjoy  the  recognition,  or  the  protection,  or  the 
vindication  of  his  rights ;  that  society  shall  be 
framed  in  the  beauty  of  a  faultless  order  and 
clasped  in  the  bond  of  peace. 

Consider  human  law  in  respect  of  its  pas- 
sionless review  of  evidence.  Law  is  passion- 
less. It  neither  loves,  pities,  nor  hates.  It 
recognizes  precedent,  but  not  prejudice.  In 
theory,  it  is  no  man's  friend  and  no  man's 
enemy.  It  sifts  out  opinions  from  evidence, 
that  it  may  hold  and  weigh  evidence  alone. 
It  is  cold,  hard,  and  white  as  the  marble  of 
Pentelicus. 

Consider  human  law  in  respect  of  its  penal 
momentum.  Was  it  ever  your  fortune  to  stand 
on  the  deck  of  some  smaller  craft  and  watch 
the  Umbria  or  the  Lahn  come  up  the  Nar- 
rows from  the  sea  ;  to  note  that  awful  silence 
of  its  momentum  as  it  devours  space?      Did 


THE  LIMITATIONS   OF  LAW.  39 

the  momentum  o£  that  giant  hull  ever  suggest 
itself  to  you  as  the  product  of  a  force  within 
itself,  yet  not  of  itself,  —  a  force  of  which  the 
hull  is  the  essential  vehicle  and  expression? 
Such  is  the  penal  momentum  of  human  law. 
A  force  within  itself,  yet  not  of  itself.  The 
limitless  imperative  of  moral  obligation  confers 
on  law  a  momentum  which  compels  it  to  exe- 
cute its  own  penalties.  It  has  no  choice  but  to 
protect  the  innocent,  no  choice  but  to  punish 
the  guilty. 

Such,  then,  is  the  impressiveness  of  human 
law.  Considered  in  respect  of  its  foundation  in 
the  moral  self-consciousness  of  man ;  or  of  its 
accord  with  ethical  perfection  ;  or  of  its  passion- 
less review  of  evidence ;  or  of  its  penal  momen- 
tum, it  indeed  may  be  called  the  most  majestic 
structure  man  has  reared,  the  most  tremendous 
instrument  man  has  wielded.  Filled  with  these 
thoughts,  it  strikes  us  at  first  with  surprise  to 
behold  that  there  are  things  which  the  law  can- 
not do.  Yet  on  reflection  we  see  that  there  is  a 
point  beyond  which  this  great  instrument  of 
human  law  is  powerless. 

Human  law  cannot  forgive  sin.  A  person 
may  forgive  another,  but  law  cannot  forgive. 
Horace  Bushnell  truly  says  of  this,  "  The  law, 
being  impersonal,  cannot  of  course  forgive  any- 


40  THE  LIMITATIONS    OF  LAW. 

thing  itself ;  or  in  any  way  compound  its  own 
wrong."  ^  There  is  a  pardoning  power,  but 
it  is  lodged  with  the  executive  government 
rather  than  with  the  judiciary.  The  judge 
who  should  attempt  to  arrest  the  penal  mo- 
mentum of  law  would  be  unseated  from  the 
bench . 

Human  law  cannot  aboHsh  crime.  That  the 
law  by  its  terrors  diminishes  the  sum  of  crime 
is  not  to  be  doubted.  But  that  it  has  no 
power  to  abolish  crime  is  demonstrated  by  the 
daily  history  of  society,  and  by  the  constant 
supply  of  inmates  for  our  penal  institutions. 

Human  law  cannot  re  (generate  the  con- 
science  or  renew  the  affections.  It  may  by  its 
severity  appeal  to  the  sense  of  fear.  It  may  by 
its  dignity  appeal  to  the  sense  of  right.  But 
its  appeal  is  ever  that  of  an  external  instru- 
ment, not  that  of  an  inward^  regenerating 
power.  We  have  no  means  of  estimating  the 
vast  extent  to  which  law  restrains  evil  conduct ; 
but  we  have  no  evidence  that  law  has  ever  yet 
regenerated  a  motive,  rehabilitated  a  corrupt 
conscience,  or  recreated  in  holiness  an  impure 
affection.  These  things,  the  forgiveness  of 
sin,  the  abohtion  of  crime,  the  regeneration  of 
conscience,  are  among  the  things  which  ( not- 
1  Forgiveness  and  Law,  p.  93. 


THE  LIMITATIONS    OF  LAW.  41 

withstanding  the  impressiveness  of  human  law ) 
"the  law  could  not  do." 

But  when  we  lift  our  eyes  thoughtfully  and 
reverently  from  human  law  to  Divine  law,  to 
the  moral  law  of  God,  we  find  that  neither  can 
the  Divine  law  do  these  things,  although  in  its 
majesty  it  transcends  all  human  law.  "  What 
the  law  could  not  do  "  is  spoken,  in  our  text, 
of  the  supreme  conception  of  all  law,  even  of 
the  perfect  moral  law  of  God  for  the  guidance 
of  man.  No  human  language  can  describe  the 
majesty  of  God's  moral  law.  All  that  w^e  dis- 
cern of  solemn  splendor  in  human  law  is  but  a 
reflection  of  the  same  attributes  perfectly  and 
primarily  existent  in  Divine  law.  Divine  law 
is  founded  in  the  Divine  self-consciousness. 
What  God  has  said  to  us  in  the  command- 
ments "  Thou  shalt "  and  "  Thou  shalt  not  " 
is  not  a  list  of  technical  regulations  adopted  by 
Him  to  show  His  power  over  us.  These  are 
the  expression  of  moral  necessities  founded  in 
His  own  beino;  and  revealed  to  His  own  self- 
consciousness.  Eightness  and  wa-ongness  are 
not  rightness  and  wrongness  merely  because 
God  says  they  are ;  they  are  ( as  Montesquieu 
says  of  human  law )  "  necessary  relations 
arising  out  of  the  nature  of  things."  They 
inhere  in  the  essence  of  God ;  and  until  God 


42  THE   LIMITATIONS   OF  LAW. 

is  destroyed,  they  cannot  be  destroyed.  Says 
Faber  in  his  noble,  hymn,  "Right  is  right, 
since  God  is  God." 

Divine  law  represents  moral  perfection.  Sup- 
pose God's  will  were  done  on  earth  as  it  is 
done  in  heaven.  What  an  earth  this  would 
be  !  Moral  perfection  would  rest  like  a  diadem 
on  every  brow.  Mercy  and  truth  would  meet 
together  in  every  transaction  of  man  with  man. 
Righteousness  and  peace  would  kiss  each  other 
in  every  outgoing  of  man's  consciousness  to- 
ward God.  The  Divine  law  would  be  the  rule 
of  a  sinless  universe  wherein  every  creature 
woidd  fulfil  a  perfect  destiny  of  usefulness, 
felicity,  and  holiness. 

The  Divine  law  is  a  passionless  review  of  evi- 
dence. Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do 
right  ?  Shall  not  those  clear,  all-seeing  Eyes 
read  us  as  we  are  ?  Shall  not  that  perfect 
Mind  deal  with  us  in  equity  ?  No  passion, 
no  resentment,  no  prejudice  shall  warp  the  law 
of  Him  who  is  all  truth  and  all  knowledge. 

"All  shadows  from  the  truth  will  fall 
And  falsehood  die,  in  sight  of  Thee. 
Oh,  quickly  come,  for  douht  and  fear 
Like  clouds  dissolve  when  Thou  art  near."  ^ 

The  Divine  law  carries  in  itself  penal  mo- 

iThe  Rev.  Lawrence  Tuttiett. 


THE  LIMITATIONS   OF  LAW.  43 

mentum.  Until  God  denies  Himself,  until 
God  destroys  that  eternal  imperative  of  moral 
obligation  which  is  the  substance  of  His  own 
being,  He  cannot  arrest  the  penal  momentum 
of  the  moral  law.  It  is  the  vehicle  and  expres- 
sion of  His  own  life.  Were  that  force  of  law 
to  be  arrested,  were  that  Divine  imperative  of 
moral  obligation  to  be  suspended,  the  moral 
universe  drops  with  a  crash ;  there  is  nothing 
left  that  is  absolutely  and  objectively  right ; 
there  is  no  right,  there  is  no  wrong,  higher 
than  public  opinion ;  God  has  abdicated  in 
favor  of  the  moral  anarchists. 

And  yet,  we  are  told  to-day,  even  of  this 
Divine  law,  which  is  founded  in  the  Divine  self- 
consciousness,  which  represents  moral  perfec- 
tion, which  is  a  passionless  review  of  evidence, 
which  carries  in  itself  penal  momentum,  —  of 
this  Ave  are  told  that  it  has  its  limitation,  that 
there  is  that  which  the  "law  could  not  do." 

The  Divine  law  cannot  foro^ve  sin.  Havinof 
in  itself  that  eternal  imperative  of  moral  obli- 
gation which  proceeds  forth  from  the  eternal 
right  in  God's  life,  law  can  simply  recognize 
facts  and  act  upon  them.  It  cannot  reverse 
facts.  On  the  one  hand  it  recognizes  obedience  ; 
on  the  other  hand  it  recognizes  disobedience. 
It  cannot  punish  obedience  without  ceasing  to 


44  THE  LIMITATIONS    OF  LAW. 

be  law ;  it  cannot  protect  or  remit  or  forgive 
disobedience  without  ceasinof  to  be  law. 

The  Divine  law  cannot  abolish  sin.  For 
thousands  of  years  man  has  known  the  law, 
yet  look  at  man  to-day.  Over  every  metropo- 
lis of  the  world  is  the  Divine  edict,  "  Thou 
shalt  not."  Yet  look  at  New  York,  and  Lon- 
don, and  Paris  to-day.  Over  your  life  and 
mine,  since  we  were  children,  have  sounded  like 
tremendous  organ  tones  the  commandments  of 
God.  Yet  look  at  our  conduct  and  at  our  secret 
thoughts,  and  confess  what  they  have  been. 

The  Divine  law  cannot  regenerate  the  con- 
science and  the  affections.  It  is  as  pure  and  holy 
for  the  unconverted  man  as  for  the  converted 
man,  yet  it  does  not  make  the  unconverted 
man  sorrow  for  his  sm,  or  asj)ire  for  fellowship 
with  God.  It  speaks  to  him  in  the  language 
of  moral  perfection  ;  he  hears  it  with  his  out- 
ward ears,  but  in  secret  he  is  unchanged,  sat- 
isfied with  his  sins,  lusting  after  further  enjoy- 
ment of  them. 

In  view  of  these  obvious  limitations  of  law, 
of  whose  existence  we  are  convinced  by  looking 
at  our  own  hearts  and  at  the  world  around  us, 
it  is  necessary  for  a  thoughtful  being  to  do  one 
of  two  things  :  to  become  a  pessimist  or  to 
become  a  Christian. 


THE  LIMITATIONS    OF  LAW,  45 

A  pessimist  is  one  who  holds  that  this  world 
is  the  worst  possible  of  worlds ;  that  the  des- 
tiny of  man  is  the  saddest  of  all  possible  des- 
tinies ;  that  the  terribleness  of  life  is  too  great 
to  be  resisted.  And  indeed,  if  there  be  no  re- 
deeming offset  to  the  Hmitations  of  law,  the 
pessimist  is  right,  and  his  sorrow  is  creditable  to 
himself.  For  is  not  Hfe  too  terrible  to  be  de- 
scribed, is  not  its  misery  too  vast  to  be  uttered, 
if  we  and  all  men  are  living  out  our  brief  day, 
and  rushing  on  to  eternal  night  under  a  law 
which  of  necessity  condemns  us,  yet  has  no 
power  to  forgive  us,  or  to  abolish  our  sin,  or  to 
regenerate  us  ?  If  one  is  not  a  Christian,  it  is 
better,  it  is  more  honorable,  it  is  less  base  to 
be  a  pessimist,  than  to  be  one  of  those  who,  in 
such  a  world,  take  their  ease  in  a  life  of  sin. 
Surely  they  are  most  like  the  beasts  that 
perish  who  can  live  in  pleasure  without  a  faith 
which  suggests  some  offset  to  the  limitations 
of  a  law  that  condemns  humanity,  but  cannot 
redeem  it,  I  can  conceive  nothing  more  ter- 
rible than  the  situation  suggested  by  those 
simple  words  of  St.  Paul :  "  What  the  law  could 
not  do."  It  can  do  so  much  to  condemn 
humanitv.  It  can  do  nothino^  to  relieve 
humanity.  It  is  like  a  surgeon  who  lays  open 
the  very  vitals  of  his  patient,  and  then  with- 


46  THE  LIMITATIONS   OF  LAW. 

draws,  saying,  "  I  leave  you  where  you  are  ; 
I  can  do  nothing  to  reHeve  your  agony."  No 
wonder  those  who  beheve  this  are  pessimists. 
Their  pessimism  is  honorable  to  them. 

But  I  refuse  to  be  a  pessimist.  There  is  that 
in  me,  not  myself,  which  whispers  to  me  of  a 
nobler  destiny  for  myself  and  for  my  fellow- 
beings.  The  same  power  that  has  long  con- 
vinced me  of  the  fact  of  a  Divine  law,  of  the 
fact  that  God  expresses  Himself  to  me  through 
those  dicta  of  righteousness  which  are  a  part  of 
His  ow^i  substance,  —  that  power  is  constantly 
telhng  me  that  God  has  come  in  ( at  the  point 
where  law  fails  through  limitation)  to  offset 
the  limitation  of  law^  by  a  new  work,  even  the 
work  of  grace.  Therefore  I  am  not  a  pessi- 
mist, and  because  I  am  not  a  pessimist,  I  am  a 
Christian.  And  my  Christianity  expresses  it- 
self in  the  answ^ers  to  these  two  questions : 
What  causes  the  Divine  law  to  be  limited  ? 
What  are  God's  offsets  to  that  limitation  ? 

What  causes  the  Di^'ine  law  to  be  limited  ? 
Why  are  there  things  that  "the  law  could  not 
do  "  ?  The  great  answer  to  this  question  is  found 
by  reading  on  through  the  few  words  that  fol- 
low our  text :  "  What  the  law  could  not  do, 
in  that  it  was  weak  throuofh  the  flesh."  The 
flesh  is  the  cause  of  the  limitation,  and  in  that 


THE  LIMITATIONS   OF  LAW.  47 


sense  the  weakening,  of  God's  law,  —  the  sin- 
ful nature  of  man.  If  man  were  holy,  as  God 
is,  and  as  God  made  man  to  be,  he  would  need 
nothing  more  than  the  Divine  law  to  keep 
him  in  righteousness,  and  so  in  blessedness  for- 
ever. Every  commandment  of  that  law,  pro- 
ceeding out  of  the  holy  depths  of  the  nature 
of  God,  would  be  perfectly  appreciated  and 
completely  received  in  the  heart  of  man,  and  as 
the  clear,  still  water  of  the  lake  fully  reflects 
the  cloud-forms  in  the  sky,  the  calm  and  clear 
moral  nature  of  man  would  completely  answer 
to  the  will  of  God.  God  would  speak,  and 
man's  answer  would  be  the  echo  of  God's 
voice.  God  would  command,  and  man's  joy 
would  be  to  do  His  commandments.  And  thus 
the  sinless  soul  would  find  every  need  of  its 
nature  met  and  satisfied  in  the  Divine  law.  It 
would  need  nothing  but  law  for  its  guidance 
and  for  its  bliss.  But  we  are  not  like  the  calm, 
clear  lake  reflecting  the  sky ;  we  are  like  the 
troubled,  turbid  sea  when  it  cannot  rest.  The 
flesh,  the  flesh  is  our  natural  life  :  the  things  of 
the  flesh,  the  laws  of  the  flesh,  the  lusts  of  the 
flesh.  This  is  sin  in  the  nature  of  man,  cor- 
rupting the  conscience ;  demeaning  the  affec- 
tions ;  nourishing  selfishness  ;  catering  to  pride  ; 
seducing  the  will.     This  is  "  the  flesh,"  and  we 


48  THE  LIMITATIONS   OF  LAW. 

that  are  in  the  flesh  cannot  please  God  ;  we  are 
not  anxious  to  please  God  ;  we  do  wish  to  please 
ourselves.  What  can  the  Divine  law,  great  as  it 
is,  do  for  us  ?  It  cannot  forgive  us  ;  it  cannot 
regenerate  us ;  it  does  not  appeal  to  us  ;  it  can 
only  condemn  us.  It  is  "weak,"  not  through 
any  weakness  in  God,  not  through  any  weakness 
in  law  ;  it  is  weak  *^  through  the  flesh,"  through 
the  fallen  and  perverse  nature  of  those  over 
whom  it  seeks  to  extend  its  sway.  If  I  go  to 
an  asylum  for  the  insane,  and  preach  there  the 
gospel,  the  gospel  is  "  weak,"  not  through  any 
weakness  in  itself,  not,  it  may  be,  through  any 
S23ecial  weakness  in  my  presentation  of  it ;  it  is 
weak  throuofh  the  diseased  condition  of  those 
to  whom  it  is  preached. 

Having  found,  then,  the  cause  of  the  limita- 
tion of  the  Divine  law  to  be  not  in  God,  but 
in  the  sinfulness  of  the  nature  of  man,  the 
greatest  of  all  questions  then  arises :  How  has 
God  offset  that  limitation  of  which  man  him- 
self is  the  cause?  Is  there  anybody  or  any- 
thinof  able  to  do  "  what  the  law  could  not 
do"?  The  answer  to  that  question  makes  me 
a  Christian,  not  as  a  matter  of  arbitrary  choice, 
but  under  the  logic  of  necessity.  After  exam- 
ining and  sifting  all  the  evidences,  outward  and 
inward,  historical  and  spiritual,  that  bear  upon 


THE  LIMITATIONS    OF  LAW.  49 

the  subject,  I  perceive  that  God  has  offset  the 
limitation  o£  the  Divine  law  by  three  gifts,  — 
by  the  gift  of  the  Saviour  to  redeem ;  by  the 
gift  of  the  Spirit  to  renew ;  by  the  gift  of 
the  Word  to  enlighten. 

By  the  gift,  I  say,  of  the  Saviour  to  re- 
deem. "  For  what  the  law  could  not  do,  in  that 
it  was  weak  through  the  flesh,  God  sending 
His  own  Son  in  the  likeness  of  sinful  flesh,  and 
for  sin,  condemned  sin  in  the  flesh."  "  Christ 
was  once  offered  to  bear  the  sins  of  many."  ^ 
"He  is  the  propitiation  for  our  sins,  and  not 
for  ours  only,  but  also  for  the  whole  world."  ^ 
"  For  He  hath  made  Him  to  be  sin  for  us. 
Who  knew  no  sin,  that  we  might  be  made  the 
righteousness  of  God  in  Him."  ^ 

God  has  offset  the  limitation  of  the  Divine 
law  by  the  gift  of  the  Spirit  to  renew.  "  Not 
by  works  of  righteousness  which  we  have  done, 
but  according  to  His  mercy  He  saved  us,  by 
the  washing  of  regeneration  and  renewing  of 
the  Holy  Ghost ;  which  He  shed  on  us  abun- 
dantly through  Jesus  Christ  our  Saviour  ;  that 
being  justified  by  His  grace,  we  should  be  made 
heirs  according  to  the  hope  of  eternal  life."  ^ 

God  has  offset  the  limitation  of  the  Divine 

1  Heb.  ix.  28.  2  1  Jj^q.  ii  2,  R.  V. 

3  2  Cor.  V.  28.  4  Tit.  iii.  5-7. 


50  THE  LIMITATIONS  OF  LAW. 

law  by  the  gift  of  the  Word  to  eiiHg-hten.  "  Of 
His  own  will  begat  He  us  by  the  word  of 
truth."  ^  "  Being  born  again,  not  of  corrupti- 
ble seed,  but  of  incorruptible,  by  the  word  of 
God,  which  liveth  and  abideth  forever."  ^ 

I  find  myself  drawn,  then,  to  the  conviction 
that  there  are  three  essential  things  which  dis- 
tinguish Gospel  Christianity  from  all  other 
alleged  forms  of  Christianity  :  The  atoning 
Saviour  is  essential ;  the  Holy  Ghost  is  essen- 
tial ;  the  revealed  Word  of  God  is  essential,  — 
the  Saviour  to  redeem  ;  the  Spirit  to  renew ; 
the  Word  to  enlio;hten.  In  these  three  essen- 
tials  I  find  God's  complete  offset  to  the  limita- 
tion of  law.  Redemption,  renewal,  enlight- 
enment, —  these  are  the  things  that  the  law 
could  not  do  in  that  it  was  weak  through  the 
flesh.  Redemption,  renewal,  enlightenment,  — 
these  are  the  hopes  that  lift  one  out  of  pessi- 
mism into  Christianity.  Redemption,  renewal, 
enlightenment,  —  these  are  the  good  news  of 
God  to  a  blighted,  hopeless  world  :  redemption 
through  an  incarnate  Saviour,  renewal  through 
a  regenerating  Spirit,  enlightenment  through 
an  inspired  Revelation  of  truth. 

To  every  heart  which  feels  the  pressure  of 
those   human  conditions,  personal  and  univer- 

1  Jas.  V.  18.  .21  Pet.  i.  23. 


THE  LIMITATIONS   OF  LAW.  51 

sal,  that  have  driven  so  many  into  bitter,  rest- 
less pessimism ;  which  is  conscious  of  sin  in 
itself,  and  which,  with  a  shudder  of  horror, 
conceives  what  sin  and  death  are  doing  in  the 
world  to-day ;  to  every  such  thoughtful  heart 
God  offers  these  truths,  the  only  solution  of 
the  human  problem  for  the  individual  or  for 
the  race.  Redemption  by  the  Sa^dour  ;  renewal 
by  the  Spirit;  enlightenment  by  the  Word. 
And  as  to  your  own  personal  action  in  relation 
to  these  three  gifts,  I  say :  For  redemption, 
beheve,  with  the  whole  weight  of  a  desperate 
faith,  —  believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  for 
renewal,  submit  your  mind  to  the  Holy  Ghost, 
and  go  with  Him  where  He  leads  ;  for  en- 
lightenment, reverence  this  Book,  as  the  death- 
less Word  of  God  ;  this  Book,  never  free,  since 
Christ  came,  from  the  attacks  of  infidel  and 
rationalist ;  never  more  certain  than  now  to 
stand  unshaken  till  Christ  shall  come  again. 
Amen. 


IV. 


THE  JOYS   THAT   ARE   PUKCHASED  BY 
SORROW. 


IVo 


THE  JOYS  THAT  ARE  PURCHASED  BY 
SORROAY. 

"  They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy." — Psal:m  cxxvi.  5. 

I  DESIRE  to  speak  of  the  Joys  that  are  pur- 
chased by  Sorrow.  In  one  way  or  another, 
probably  every  experience  of  our  hfe  may  be 
looked  upon  as  the  result  of  something  else. 
Nothing  comes  separately  and  without  a  cause. 
We  are  perpetually  tracing  connections  be- 
tween causes  and  effects,  either  accounting  for 
what  is,  or  estimating  what  might  have  been, 
under  other  conditions.  AYhen  our  child  is 
smitten  with  fever,  the  first  thought  is,  "  AVhere 
and  when  was  she  exposed  ?  "  When  Lazarus 
is  borne  to  his  untimely  grave,  the  sisters  say  to 
Christ,  '^  If  Thou  hadst  been  here  our  brother 
had  not  died." 

Among  the  things  woven  into  the  pattern  of 
every  life  are  sorrow  and  joy.  Sorrow  and  joy 
are  both  causes  and  effects.  Of  one  person  we 
say,  "  Sorrow  has  broken  down  his  health." 
Of  another  person  we  say,  "Joy  has  made  a 


56  JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW. 

new  man  of  him."  Here  sorrow  and  joy  are 
represented  as  causes.  Again,  of  one  we  say, 
"  He  is  in  sorrow  by  reason  of  his  mother's 
death,"  and  of  another,  "  He  is  full  of  joy  be- 
cause his  child  has  come  out  into  the  light  of 
the  spiritual  life."  Here  joy  and  sorrow  are 
represented  as  effects  resulting  from  these  vari- 
ous events.  In  our  text,  joy  is  represented  to 
us  as  an  effect  produced  through  sorrow  as  its 
antecedent.  "  They  that  sow  in  tears  shall 
reap  in  joy."  This  presents  to  our  minds  the 
conception  of  joys  that  are  purchased  by  sor- 
row. We  feel  this  to  be  a  profound  concep- 
tion, only  to  be  understood  by  careful  analysis. 
It  may  perhaps  assist  us  to  make  this  analysis, 
if,  for  the  moment,  we  place  before  our  minds 
the  contrary  proposition  to  that  we  are  about  to 
consider,  and  ask,  Are  there  sorrows  that  are 
purchased  by  joy  ?  Unquestionably  there  are. 
This  is  found  often  to  be  realized  in  connec- 
tion with  the  possession  of  great  natural  gifts. 
He  who  has  in  unusual  measure  the  genius  of 
music  holds  the  passport  to  a  world  of  joy 
whose  very  existence  is  unknoAvn  by  others. 
To  him  is  granted  the  peace,  or  the  insight,  or 
the  aspiring  courage,  or  the  rapture,  which  be- 
lons:  to  the  various  realms  of  tone  ;  for  him  is 
the  bliss  of  access  to  the  palace  of  harmony, 


JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW.  57 

where,  even  when  walking*  in  the  noisy  street, 
or  pacing  the  bounding  deck  far  out  at  sea,  he 
can  in  silent  joy  be  mentally  walking  through 
room  after  room  of  splendor,  ascending  and 
descending  golden  stairs,  and  standing  rever- 
ently before  apocalyptic  pictures.  But  he  is 
bound  to  suffer ;  this  joy  will  often  purchase 
for  him  a  pain,  a  restlessness,  a  depression,  a 
sense  of,  horrid  discord  in  life,  escaped  by 
others,  who,  being  unable  to  follow  him  to  his 
heights,  are  not  called  to  suffer  with  him  in  his 
depths. 

The  sorrow  that  is  purchased  by  joy  is  found 
to  be  realized  in  connection  with  the  finer  train- 
ing of  the  intellect.  What  noble  happiness 
comes  to  a  creature  made  in  God's  image,  as 
he  becomes  conscious  of  intellectual  growth, 
realizes  in  himself  capacities  more  profound 
and  powers  more  vigorous,  conquers  new  de- 
partments of  knowledge,  and  surrounds  his 
mind  with  the  thoughts  of  scholars  and  phi- 
losophers, as  with  a  band  of  faithful  and  con- 
genial friends.  He  knows  that  his  critical  in- 
stincts have  been  trained ;  that  his  opinions  are 
more  mature  and  more  worthy ;  that  his  out- 
look upon  the  great  arena  of  human  reason  and 
speculation  is  far  more  broad  and  discriminating 
than  of  old.     This  is  joy,  and  yet  he  is  bound 


58  JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW. 

to  suffer  for  it,  in  ways  from  which  the  igno- 
rant and  the  undiscipHned  shall  never  suffer. 
"  He  that  increaseth  knowledge  increaseth  sor- 
row." ^  The  unquenchable  fires  of  intellectual 
ambition  must  now  forever  burn  him,  and  a 
thousand  fears,  doubts,  and  anxious  reflections, 
to  which  ignorance  remains  a  happy  stranger, 
shall  take  possession  of  his  mind. 

The  sorrow  that  is  purchased  by  j#y  is  real- 
ized by  the  intense  believer  in  Christ.  No  one 
suffers  so  acutely  from  the  bitter  reproaches  of 
a  condemning  conscience,  no  one  bows  himself 
so  deeply  in  the  dust  of  humiliation,  as  he  who 
best  knows  the  sweetness  of  the  name  of  Jesus, 
and  the  sublimity  of  the  new  life.  Other  men 
may  have  been  able  to  confess  Christ  without 
emotion,  and  to  live  in  the  new  life  without 
joy.  He  has  not  been  able  to  escape  the  hap- 
piness ;  for  the  intensity  of  his  belief  in  the 
risen  Master  has  created  a  glorifying  sense  of 
fellowship  with  Him,  which,  amidst  the  com- 
monplaces of  earth,  gives  to  life  a  daily  gift  of 
dignity,  and  freedom,  and  joyousness.  As  he 
goes  to  his  common  tasks,  he  feels  that  a  dear 
Guardian  is  thinking  of  him  and  loving  him, 
and  often,  in  the  sudden  perplexities  of  life, 
he  hears  that  faithful  word  behind  him  saying, 
1  Eccl.  i.  18. 


JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW.  59 

'^  This  is  the  way."  ^  And  this  is  his  joy,  —  a 
joy  which,  I  truly  think,  has  not  its  equal  on 
earth,  because  it  is  an  all-comprehending  joy, 
that  embraces  with  overshadowing*  wings  every 
other  holy  joy  which  life  contains.  But  he 
who  has  this  joy  must  suffer  for  it.  A  rela- 
tionship so  transcendent  in  its  spiritual  import, 
so  sensitive,  so  sacred,  is  disturbed  by  sins 
which  pass  unnoticed  over  the  experience  of 
other  lives.  The  spiritual  life  becomes  sensi- 
tive as  the  eyeball,  where  a  grain  of  dust,  which 
would  be  brushed  unconsciously  from  the  hand, 
occasions  an  agony  that  demands  immediate 
attention  and  relief. 

The  sorrow  that  is  purchased  by  joy  is  real- 
ized wdien  the  desolating  separations  of  time 
or  the  dissolvinof  touch  of  death  brinof  to  an 
end  the  most  precious  companionships  of  our 
life.  Do  we  not  know  when  we  love  intensely 
that  this  ecstatic  delight  of  unrestrained  affec- 
tion is  daily  adding  intensity  to  that  desolation 
which  would  set  in,  were  death  to  snatch  away 
the  object  of  our  joy  ?  Do  we  not  understand, 
when  we  allow  ourselves  to  become  dependent 
upon  the  strong  and  steadfast  friend,  when 
we  permit  ourselves  to  condition  our  peace  of 
mind  and  our  exercise  of  choice  upon  the  privi- 

1  Isa.  XXX.  20,  21. 


60  JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW. 

lege  of  conference  with  the  human  heart  that 
seems  to  know  us  almost  better  than  we  know 
ourselves,  we  are  storing  up  profouncler  lone- 
liness for  those  years  when  we  may  call,  and 
that  friend  cannot  answer  us,  when  we  may 
seek,  and  that  friend  cannot  be  found  ?  Do 
we  not  perceive  that  the  happier  a  home  is, 
that  the  more  dear  our  children  are,  by  so  much 
shall  those  joys  purchase  larger  draughts  of 
sorrow,  as  the  years  draw  nigh  when  all  this 
is  changed  ?  We  do  know  it ;  we  do  under- 
stand it ;  we  do  perceive  it ;  yet  if  we  are  wise 
we  mil  only  love  our  treasures  more  tenderly, 
and  live  in  our  friends  more  richly,  "  while  we 
may,"  assured  that  God  has  somewhere  for  us, 
here  or  above,  full  compensation  for  sorrows 
that  are  purchased    by   such    pure  and  noble 

joys. 

These  reflections,  following  upon  Avhat  may 
be  called  the  reverse  presentation  of  this  sub- 
ject, prepare  our  minds  the  more  keenly  to  ap- 
preciate that  element  in  the  words  of  our  text 
which  has  so  greatly  endeared  them  to  human 
hearts.  "  They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in 
joy."  As  thoughtful  persons  pass  through  life 
they  are,  as  we  have  seen,  compelled  to  admit 
that  man's  experience,  on  some  of  its  finest  and 
most  elevated  lines,  is  the  purchase  of  sorrow 


JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW.  61 

•by  joy,  —  that  the  concentration  of  the  purest 
happiness  involves,  in  many  ways,  the  possi- 
bility, if  not  the  certainty,  of  more  poignant 
sorrow.  It  has  ever  seemed,  therefore,  a  most 
blessed  equalizing  of  man's  lot  to  be  assured 
that  life  contains  for  some  at  least,  if  not  for 
all,  joys  that  are  purchased  by  sorrow ;  that  all 
which  may  begin  in  tears  does  not  of  necessity 
end  in  tears  ;  that  there  are  harvestings  for 
some  marvellously  unlike  the  seed-sowings ; 
nay,  more,  that  there  are  joys  which  could  not 
be  the  heart-filling,  strength-renewing  things 
they  are,  had  they  not  sprung  out  of  pain  and 
the  sowing's  of  tears.  The  moment  we  set  our 
minds  upon  this  theme,  '^  The  joys  that  are 
purchased  by  sorrow,"  we  perceive  its  far-reach- 
ing, manifold  applications  to  the  life  and  the 
energy  of  man.  To  say  that  well-nigh  every 
joy  in  human  life  has  some  element  or  touch  of 
sadness  blended  with  it,  is  a  truth,  but  not  the 
truth  we  are  endeavoring  to  express  to-day. 
He  who  was  the  deepest  student  of  the  heart's 
joy  and  suffering,  of  life's  mixed  light  and 
darkness,  that  has  spoken  since  the  Hebrew 
psalmists,  has  spoken  of  "our  joys "  as  "  three 
parts  pain."  ^  Granting  that  they  are,  this  is 
not  the  thought  that  is  chiefly  embodied  in  that 

^  Robert  Browning,  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra. 


62  JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW. 

magnificent  line  o£  hope,  "  They  that  sow  in 
tears  shall  reap  in  joy."  That  tells  us  not  so 
much  of  the  pain  that  may  be  mixed  with  joy, 
but  of  the  joy  that  is  purchased  and  purchas- 
able only  through  pain.  There  is  such  joy, 
and  it  is  the  harvest  of  those  who  have  been 
brave  enough  to  sow  in  tears.  Herein  is  a  law, 
reaching,  in  its  scope,  from  things  physical  and 
material  up  to  things  that  link  our  nature  in 
with  the  very  Cross  and  Passion  of  the  Son 
of  God, — the  law  of  joy  that  is  purchased  by 
sorrow. 

Some  are  'shut  out  from  the  scope  of  this 
law  so  that  it  does  not  cover  them  nor  touch 
them ;  they  live  and  die  outside  of  its  influ- 
ence. Who  are  they  that  live  outside  of  its 
influence?  They  are  those  who  have  sought 
happiness  as  an  end  in  itseK,  and  as  the  chief 
13urpose  of  life,  and  who  have  set  themselves 
to  attain  that  end  by  evading  pain,  and  strain, 
and  the  hardness  of  things  wherever  they  can ; 
they  are  those  who  have,  consciously  or  uncon- 
sciously, confused  the  idea  of  sorrow  and  hard- 
ness with  the  idea  of  evil,  as,  in  common,  things 
to  be  avoided ;  they  have  confounded  ease  with 
good,  and  have  lived,  making  a  study  of  ease, 
calculating  how  to  carry  on  life  with  the  mini- 
mum disturbance  of  ease.     I  speak  in  perfect 


JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW.  63 

kindness  and  good  faith  when  I  say :  "  They 
have  their  reward ; "  such  a  theory  of  life  has 
its  obvious  compensations.  But  such  a  life, 
with  its  inherent  dread  of  discomfort,  and,  at 
last,  its  almost  involuntary  protest  against 
sorrow,  seems,  I  think,  to  be  doing  its  own 
finer  selfhood  a  perpetual  injustice  in  making 
so  much  of  ease ;  for  it  is  compelling  itself  to 
live,  so  far  as  possible,  outside  of  that  broad 
zone  of  experience,  and  outside  of  that  great 
law  within  which  are  surely  comprehended  some 
of  the  most  truly  grand  manifestations  of  char- 
acter, and  some  of  the  most  truly  lofty  joys, 
which  have  ever  been,  —  the  joys  that  are  pur- 
chased by  sorrow. 

Down,  as  I  have  said,  into  matters  which  are 
physical  and  material,  and  up,  as  I  have  said, 
into  thinofs  which  link  our  nature  with  the 
very  Cross  and  Passion  of  the  Son  of  God, 
reaches  this  broad  and  profoundly  human  law 
of  the  joys  that  are  purchased  by  sorrow. 
"  They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy  !  " 
Is  it  not  the  law  of  the  athlete,  as  through 
weeks  and  months  he  surrenders  his  freedom 
and  his  ease  to  lead,  under  sternest  discipline, 
the  life  of  hardship ;  and  then,  schooled  by  pri- 
vation, goes  into  the  field  where  pain  and  pos- 
sible injury  await  him  ?    But    when  the  flags 


64  JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW. 

are  waving  and  ten  thousand  sympathetic  voices 
are  telling  him  his  victory,  then  he  reaps  in 
joy.  Does  he  regret  the  painful  sowing,  the 
privation,  the  uncompromising  tutelage,  the 
sprained  hand,  the  aching  muscles,  the  throb- 
bing head  ?     No ! 

'*  He  may  smile  at  troubles  gone 
Who  sets  the  victor-garland  on  !  "  ^ 

"  They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy  !  " 
Is  it  not  the  law  of  the  mountain-climber? 
Over  the  foothills  and  up  the  glen,  out  on  the 
miles  of  bog,  out  on  the  gigantic  shoulder,  on 
toward  the  slippery  screes  —  and  his  limbs  are 
aching  as  with  rheumatism,  and  drops  like 
tears  are  falling  from  his  face,  though  it  is 
bitterly  cold.  But  no  bed  of  down  could  tempt 
him  to  stop,  no  flowery  valley  of  delight  could 
draw  him  back  from  that  cold,  inhospitable 
crag,  up  which,  lying  almost  against  the  rugged 
hill,  torn  by  a  freezing  wind,  he  is  making  the 
last  grand  effort.  He  loves  the  freezing  wind, 
and  the  pain,  and  the  bald,  solitary  crag ;  for 
here,  even  here  at  last,  is  the  cairn,  —  the  earth 
and  the  clouds  are  below  him,  and  he  reaps 
in  joy! 

"  They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy !  " 

1  St.  Joseph  of  the  Studium,  circ.  A.  D.  830,  tr.  Rev.  Jno. 
Mason  Neale. 


JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW.  65 

Is  it  not  the  law  of  him  who  conquers  sloth  ? 
"  Yet  a  little  sleep,  a  little  slumber,  a  Httle 
folding'  of  the  hands  to  sleep," -^  —  so  pleads 
the  flesh,  ignobly  cautious  of  itself,  daunted 
by  base  visions  of  shivering  discomfort.  But 
the  spirit  halts  not  at  the  pleading  of  the  flesh. 
Taught  of  God,  it  knows  how  much  of  charac- 
ter ebbs  away  in  life's  minor  indulgences,  or  is 
built  up  in  the  endurance  of  life's  minor  dis- 
comforts ;  how  many  greater  battles  are  lost  or 
won  beforehand  on  these  small,  inglorious  bat- 
tlefields ;  and  brushing  away  the  webs  of  sloth, 
accepting,  nay,  welcoming  and  rejoicing  in  the 
strengthening  tonic  of  discomfort,  it  saves  the 
whole  day  by  the  sunrise  victory,  and  reaps- in 

joy- 

"  They  that  sow  in  tears  shaU  reap  in  joy." 
Is  it  not  the  sacred  law  of  home  hfe  ?  As  with 
the  years  come  these  mystical  burdens  of  care 
and  grief  and  pain  and  sickness  and  separation  ; 
as  the  life  of  one  is  imperilled  for  another,  and 
the  toil  of  one  is  poured  out  for  all ;  as  the 
loves  and  solicitudes  of  all  are  twined  and  inter- 
twined, and  perchance  as  the  ivies  of  memory 
are  clustering  over  some  grave  that  has  been 
many  times  sown  mth  tears,  is  there  not  each 
year  a  richer  reaping  in  joy,  that  could  not  have 

^  Prov.  xxiv.  33. 


66  JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW. 

been  the  joy  it  is  but  for  the  hallowed  soil  of 
immortal  experiences  out  of  which  it  springs? 

"  They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy." 
Is  not  this  the  law  of  sympathy  ?  Oh,  mistake 
of  mistakes  !  to  think  that  they  are  happiest 
w4io  enter  least  into  the  sorrows  of  others ;  who 
fly,  like  moths,  always  where  the  light  is  bright- 
est. Ah !  my  companions  of  many  years,  who 
by  the  loveliness  of  your  examples  have  so 
often  taught  me  the  depth,  the  tenderness,  the 
versatility  of  Christian  sympathy,  how  well  you 
know  that  the  true  sons  of  consolation  are 
the  happiest  men  on  earth  ;  that  there  is  a  joy 
which,  like  heaven's  own  light,  descends  upon 
one  and  illumines  one's  j)ath,  when  one  knows 
that  that  most  holy  office  of  the  comforter  has 
not  been  essayed  in  vain.  Ah,  wdiat  sympathy 
costs  !  wdiat  it  takes  out  of  one's  life,  when 
it  ceases  to  be  conventional,  and  becomes  the 
true  "  (7f^7td(T;^co,"  "  suffering  wdth,"  only  they 
know  who  have  thus  suffered  with  their  fel- 
low-men !  And  what  it  gives  back  to  one's 
life,  —  the  greater  things  it  puts  into  one's 
soul,  the  reapings  of  joy  purchased  by  these 
sowings  of  tears,  —  they  only  who  have  known 
the  one  can  conceive  the  other  ! 

But  there  is  one  other  application  of  this 
law  of  the  joys  that  are  purchased  by  sorrow, 


JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW.  67 

and  oue  only  among  the  many  which  yet  re- 
main undescribecl,  of  which  I  wish  at  this  time 
to  speak.  It  is  one  which  may  he  truly  said 
to  link  our  Hves  with  the  very  Cross  and  Pas- 
sion of  the  Son  of  God.  "  They  that  sow  in 
tears  shall  reap  in  joy."  Is  not  this  the  law  of 
all  higher  spiritual  effort  ?  I  dare  not  lead 
you  to  infer  fi'om  this  that  every  spiritual  effort 
which  we  make  is  crowned  with  success.  That, 
alas  !  may  not  be  true.  There  may  be  those 
whose  Hfe  has  for  years  been  one  of  sad  effort, 
to  whom  no  jo^rEul  reaping  of  their  heart's  de- 
sire is  allotted.  Let  us,  then,  draw  no  false  or 
misofuidmo'  inference  from  these  words.  But 
let  us  surelv  catch  the  true  thouo-ht  that  is  here 
brought  before  the  mind  of  every  one  of  us 
who  knows  what  spiritual  effort  means.  "  They 
that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy."  They  shall 
have  the  joy  who  have  loved  their  work  well 
enouo'h  to  be  wilhno;  to  suffer  in  the  doino-  of 
it.  How  many  can  bear  witness  that  all  the 
greater  spiritual  efforts  of  our  lives  for  others 
must  be  a  sowing  in  tears.  There  are  reasons 
which,  applicable  to  one  case  and  to  another, 
make  it  true  of  all  that  when  the  joy  does 
come  after  spiritual  effort,  it  is  a  joy  purchased 
by  sorrow.  In  earlier  days  I  was  surprised  at 
this,  and  much  disheartened  that  there  should 


68  JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW. 

be  so  much  sorrow  in  my  work.  Now  I  per- 
ceive it  is  a  law,  common  to  all  the  greater 
forms  of  spiritual  effort,  and  that  I  could  not 
have  had  the  later  joy  of  any  effort  without  the 
foregoing  sorrow.  Why  is  this  ?  In  some  in- 
stances the  sorrow  of  the  higher  spiritual  effort 
springs  from  what  in  the  physical  world  would 
be  called  the  resistance  of  matter.  In  the  spir- 
itual world,  it  is  the  resistance  of  the  life  or  the 
Hves  for  which  you  are  pouring  yourself  out : 
sometimes  an  active  resistance,  defiant  or  flip- 
pant ;  more  often  a  passive  resistance,  as  of 
dead  matter,  not  knowing  what  you  mean,  not 
caring  what  you  mean. 

Again  the  sorrow  of  the  spiritual  effort 
springs  from  the  utter  uncertainty  which  envi- 
rons it.  You  have  shot  an  arrow  in  the  air. 
Where  has  it  fallen?  You  have  poured  the 
very  life  of  your  life  out  like  water  on  the 
ground.     Where  has  it  sunken  out  of  sight  ? 

Again,  the  sorrow  of  the  spiritual  effort 
springs  from  the  awful  sense  of  personal  limi- 
tation ;  God  so  infinite,  you  so  terribly  finite ; 
God's  truth  so  sky-broad,  the  measure  of  your 
mind  so  narrow ;  Christ's  love  so  mighty,  your 
voice,  proclaiming  it,  so  feeble  ;  till  the  earthen 
vessel  of  one's  life  seems  almost  to  degrade 
and  belittle  the  treasure  committed  to  it. 


JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW.  C9 

Again,  the  sorrow  of  the  spiritual  effort 
springs  from  the  travail  of  the  soul.  If  we 
ourselves  were  not  in  Christ  and  of  Christ,  this 
would  not  be.  We  mig^ht  still  love  with  a  hu- 
man  love,  and  work  with  a  human  interest  for 
the  objects  nearest  to  us,  but  we  would  not 
have  the  travail  of  the  soul.  But  this  is  the 
very  signature  of  Jesus  upon  our  work,  show- 
ing us  that,  after  all,  it  is  not  ours,  but  His. 
It  is  not  we  alone  who  are  sorrowinsf  over  this 
wayAvard  soul,  going  so  fast  away  from  God; 
it  is  not  we  alone  who  are  workino-  in  an  almost 
anguish  of  desire  to  help  this  mind  captured 
by  doubts,  and  so  helpless,  to  make  that  great 
self -surrender  to  Christ.  It  is  He,  —  it  is  He, 
Who  is  sorrowing  with  us.  Who  is  working 
with  us.  When  one  thinks  of  this,  one  is 
ready  to  accept  the  sorrow  of  the  higher  spir- 
itual effort,  and  to  go  on,  sowing  in  tears. 

But  now  and  again  Christ,  Who  is  working 
with  and  sorrowino*  with  one  and  another  of  us 
in  our  higher  spiritual  efforts,  —  Christ  sees  of 
the  travail  of  His  Soul  and  is  satisfied,  and  that 
for  which  He  and  we  travailed  is  done,  —  a  soul 
is  brought  into  the  new  life.  Then,  the  joy. 
Ah !  some  of  you  know  it.  Mothers,  who  for 
their  sons  have  sown  in  tears  year  after  year ; 
and  now  the  joy  of  reaping  exceeds  in  one  day 


70  JOYS  PURCHASED  BY  SORROW. 

the  sorrow  o£  those  years.  Friends;  who  have 
sown  in  tears  for  other  friends^  lovely  and  no- 
ble in  all  things  but  that  one  thing,  —  the  love- 
liness of  Christ ;  and  now  the  reaping,  the  com- 
ing again  with  rejoicing,  bringing  their  sheaves 
with  them. 

"  They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy." 
And  how  little  any  of  us  can  know  on  earth  of 
what  that  means,  concerning  the  resurrection 
of  the  blessed  dead  from  graves  that  we  have 
set  with  flowers  and  that  we  have  watered  with 
tears ;  concerning  the  resurrection  of  buried 
efforts,  that  we  had  mournfully  laid  aside  as 
fruitless  forever,  but  over  which  Christ  has 
watched,  preser\ing  a  germ  that  shall  be  re- 
vealed in  heaven ;  concerning  the  resurrection 
of  our  own  selfhood  in  that  nobler  Hfe,  when  all 
the  intensity  of  present  experiences,  and  all  the 
pathos  of  present  limitations  shall  be  changed 
to  the  glorious  expression  and  the  spiritual 
boundlessness  of  "  the  Life  that  is  life  indeed." 
Amen. 


V. 


THE  ELEMENT  OF  SILENCE  IN  PEK- 
SONAL  EELIGION. 


THE  ELEMENT  OF  SILENCE  IN    PER- 
SONAL RELIGION. 

"  A  time  to  keep  silence."  —  Ecclesiastes  iii.  7. 

The  theme  is,  The  Element  of  Silence  in 
Personal  Religion.  There  is  a  time  to  speak  ; 
a  time  for  the  clear,  courageous  word  of  testi- 
mony; a  time  when,  as  Peter  says,  we  must 
acknowledge  and  justify  our  hope  by  giving 
with  meekness  and  with  reverence  a  reasonable 
account  of  it  to  those  who  ask:^  but  there 
also  comes  in  every  life  a  time  to  keep  silence ; 
a  time  when  silence  is  more  sublime,  more 
humble,  and  worthier  of  a  son  of  God,  than 
speech. 

When  we  examine  the  history  of  religious 
opinion,  and  attempt  to  arrange  the  views 
which  have  been  held  regarding  man's  relation 
to  Divine  Truth,  we  find  two  extremes,  —  the 
extreme  of  under-statement  and  the  extreme  of 
over-statement.  The  extreme  of  under-state- 
ment is  Agnosticism,  —  that  you  cannot  know 

1  1  Pet.  iii.  15. 


74        SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL  RELIGION. 

anything  definitely  about  God  and  life ;  conse- 
quently you  cannot  say  anything  definitely 
about  God  and  life.  The  extreme  of  over- 
statement is  excessive  Affirmation,  —  that  we 
have  a  full  and  definite  revelation  of  God  and 
life ;  consequently  it  is  our  duty  definitely  to 
affirm  in  words  all  that  is  revealed  of  God  and 
life,  for  the  purpose  of  making  our  system  of 
theology  complete.  Granting  entirely  the  sin- 
cerity with  which  both  of  these  extreme  views 
are  held,  I  am  certain  that  each  view  does 
injustice  to  personal  religion,  and  that  both 
views,  though  proceeding  from  exactly  opposite 
standpoints,  do  precisely  the  same  kind  of 
injustice.  I  will  explain  :  Here  are  two  men  ; 
one  is  a  Cornish  miner,  one  is  a  Swiss  shep- 
herd. They  meet  as  inmates  in  an  asylum  for 
the  blind.  The  Swiss  shepherd  asks  the  Cor- 
nish miner,  "  How  came  you  to  be  blind  ? " 
And  he  says,  "  Too  much  darkness.  I  lived  in 
a  mine ;  I  made  no  allowance  for  light ;  finally 
my  sight  gave  way."  And  the  Cornish  miner 
asks  the  Swiss  shepherd,  "  How  came  you  to 
be  blind  ?  "  And  he  says,  "  Too  much  light. 
I  lived  on  the  snow  mountains.  I  made  no 
allowance  for  shadow,  and  at  last  my  sight 
gave  way."  Now  these  men  lived  in  opposite 
extremes  of  primary  condition  \   they  commit- 


SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL  RELIGION.        75 

ted  the  same  injustice  of  making  no  allowance 
for  an  indispensable  physical  compensation. 
They  met  at  length  in  the  gloom  of  a  common 
calamity.  So  the  man  who  embraced  Agnosti- 
cism, who  taught  himself  to  affirm  nothing, 
who  made  no  allowance  for  the  speech  power 
of  the  immortal  spirit,  did,  at  length,  the  same 
kind  of  injury  to  his  own  spiritual  life  that 
was  done  by  the  man  who  felt  it  his  duty  to 
affirm  in  words  all  that  may  be  known  of  God ; 
who  attempted  to  formulate  all  truth ;  who 
made  no  allowance  for  those  conceptions  of 
God  which  we  can  only  know  in  silence,  and 
for  those  agonizings  and  aspirings  of  faith  and 
of  hope  which  are  belittled  by  words,  which 
rise  immeasurably  above  the  scope  of  speech. 
The  one  practically  denies  the  time  to  speak. 
The  other  practically  denies  the  time  to  keep 
silence.  Both  are  unjust  to  themselves.  Both 
may  unconsciously  be  standing  in  the  same 
shadow. 

I  am  to  illustrate  to-day  the  place  and  power 
of  the  element  of  silence  in  personal  religion. 
I  enter  upon  this  effort  with  extreme  willing- 
ness :  because  it  is  so  perfectly  evident  to  me 
that  God  is  unsearchable,  and  that  life  is  un- 
searchable :  it  is  indeed  an  infinite  relief  to 
believe  that  I  am  under  no  obligation  even  to 


76        SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL   RELIGION. 

try  to  affirm  in  my  words  all  that  I  seem  to  see 
revealed  of  God ;  nor  even  to  try  to  explain  all 
that  I  see  of  the  movings  of  the  Hand  of  God 
in  human  life.  It  is  indeed  an  infinite  relief 
to  believe  that  I  have  the  right  to  be  silent, 
and  that  by  this  silence  I  do  neither  evade  my 
duty,  nor  stultify  my  intelligence,  nor  trifle 
with  my  own  sincerity. 

If  w^e  may  apply  to  this  subject  an  argument 
from  analogy,  the  duty  of  regarding  the  ele- 
ment of  silence  as  a  perpetual  element  of  per- 
sonal religion  w^ould  seem  to  be  powerfully 
suggested  to  our  minds  by  the  course  which 
God  sees  fit  to  pursue  in  the  administration  of 
His  providential  government,  as  well  as  in  His 
government  of  grace.  How  little,  of  all  that 
God  does,  does  He  see  fit  to  explain  to  us  in 
our  present  state  of  existence  !  How  constantly, 
in  the  realms  of  Providence  and  of  Grace,  He 
is  apparently  saying  to  us,  "  What  I  do  thou 
knowest  not  now,  but  ttou  shalt  know  here- 
after "  !  -^  Perceive  in  the  lealm  of  Providence 
how  life,  growth,  suffering,  death,  are  inexpli- 
cable. Life  !  w^ho  knows  its  origin  ?  For  a 
time  it  was  triumphantly  believed  that  the 
secret  of  Life  had  been  discovered  in  spontane- 
ous  generation.     But  that   has    been    thrown 

1  St.  Jno.  xiii.  7. 


SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL  RELIGION.        77 

aside,  as  an  exploded  hypothesis,  by  the  great 
thinkers  who  proclaimed  it.  Professor  Mome- 
rie,  in  his  splendid  book  on  Agnosticism,  pays 
a  well-deserved  tribute  to  Professor  Tyndall's 
scientific  heroism  in  repudiating  his  own  doc- 
trine of  spontaneous  generation.  "  I  know  of 
nothing  nobler,"  says  Momerie,  "  than  the  con- 
duct of  Professor  Tyndall  in  regard  to  the 
theory  of  spontaneous  generation.  He  himself 
hoped  that  it  would  turn  out  true,  and  yet  it 
was  by  his  own  laborious  efforts  that  the  exper- 
iments, previously  supposed  to  have  established 
it,  were  proved  unsatisfactory."  ^  Growth  !  who 
knows  its  law  ?  "  Which  of  you  by  taking 
thought  can  add  one  cubit  to  his  stature?  " "  Or 
who  can  account  for  the  process  of  that  mystic 
change  whereby  the  being  which  was  once  a 
helpless  nursHng  in  our  arms  is  presently  bound- 
ing at  our  side  in  youth's  bravery,  or  bending 
down  to  us  in  manly  tenderness  to  support  our 
tottering  age  ?  Suffering  !  What  of  it  ?  Truly 
we  who  are  privileged  to  minister  in  the  places 
of  pain  may  note  the  heart-straining  phenom- 
ena of  Suffering,  may  in  each  specific  instance 
assign  a  cause  for  pain  ;  but  who  —  ah,  who  ! 
—  has  yet  accounted  for  the  allotments  of  Suf- 

^  Momerie's  Agnosticism,  pp.  28,  29. 
2  St.  Matt.  vi.  27. 


78       SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL  RELIGION. 

ferine:  ?  who  has  found  a  clue  to  the  distribu- 
tion  of  pain  ?  Death  !  we  have  seen  it.  Ah  ! 
bethink  you,  have  we  seen  it  ?  We  have  seen 
the  dying ;  we  have  seen  the  dead ;  but  who 
has  seen  Death  ?  Who  has  discovered  what 
Death  is?  No  man  can  explain  to  us  Life, 
Growth,  Suffering,  Death,  and  when  we  ask  of 
God,  God  answers  us  by  silence.  So  does  He, 
as  well,  under  the  government  of  Grace.  What 
is  that  new  life  we  call  the  Eegeneration  ? 
How  works  upon  our  spiritual  substance  that 
Divine  Regenerator,  that  Power-agent  of  the 
new  birth  ?  "  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  list- 
eth,  and  thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof,  but 
canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh  and  whither  it 
goeth.  So  is  every  one  that  is  born  of  the 
Spirit."  ^  Think  of  this  element  of  silence  in 
God's  natural  and  spiritual  administrations, 
and  reason  from  it  to  the  element  of  silence 
in  personal  religion :  it  is  our  best,  our  hum- 
blest, our  sublimest  answer  to  the  silence  of 
God.  Where  He  has  not  explained  Himself, 
why  need  we  presume  it  our  duty  to  try  to 
explain  Him  ?  Where  He  has  disclosed  Him- 
self but  dimly,  why  should  we  feel  bound  to 
affirm  Him  distinctly  ?  Where  He  has  covered 
Himself  with  darkness,  why  should  we  try  to 

1  St.  Jno.  iii.  8. 


SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL  RELIGION.       79 

probe  Him  with  light  ?  Through  each  crowded, 
throbbing  year  of  ministry  among  human  Hves, 
I  am  brought  to  reahze  more  solemnly  how 
unsearchable  God  is,  and  how  unsearchable  life 
is.  I  feel  more  and  more  that,  in  dealing  with 
Divine  Truth  and  in  dealing  with  human  life, 
there  are,  for  lis  all,  times  to  keep  silence; 
there  are  phases  of  God  and  phases  of  life 
where  affirmation  is  not  demanded,  because 
affirmation  is  impossible ;  where  explanation  is 
not  enjoined,  because  explanation  is  impracti- 
cable ;  there  are  conceptions  of  God  only  to  be 
known  in  silence  ;  there  are  agonies  and  aspi- 
rations of  faith  and  of  hope  which  rise  above 
the  tangled  forests  of  words  into  the  white, 
motionless  mountain-peaks  of  silence. 

Before  going  a  step  further,  I  wish  to  guard 
myself  from  being  misunderstood  by  any.  I 
conceive  of  personal  religion  as  mainly  affirm- 
ative. There  is  far  more  speech  than  silence 
in  it.  It  abounds  in  gladdening,  quickening, 
moving  affirmations.  I  believe  that  the  Life 
Eternal  involves  not  only  the  power  of  know- 
ing the  only  true  God,  and  Jesus  Christ  Whom 
He  hath  sent,  but  the  power  of  affirming  our 
knowledge  of  God  in  Christ.  Hear  that  mar- 
vellous series  of  affirmations  with  which  John 
closes  the  first  epistle  :  "  He  that  hath  the  Son 


80        SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL  RELIGION. 

hath  the  life ;  he  that  hath  not  the  Son  of  God 
hath  not  the  hfe.  These  things  have  I  written 
unto  you,  that  ye  may  know  that  ye  have  eter- 
nal life.  This  is  the  boldness  which  we  have 
toward  Him,  that  if  we  ask  anything  according 
to  His  Will,  He  heareth  us ;  and  if  we  hiow 
that  He  heareth  us  whatsoever  we  ask,  we 
hiow  that  we  have  the  petitions  which  we 
have  asked  of  Him.  We  hioio  that  whosoever 
is  begotten  of  God  sinneth  not.  We  know 
that  we  are  of  God,  and  the  whole  world 
lieth  in  the  Evil  One.  And  we  know  that 
the  Son  of  God  is  come  and  hath  given  us 
an  understanding,  that  we  know  Him  that  is 
true." ' 

These  are  knowledges  that  we  can  express  in 
words.  But  I  also  believe  that  expressible  and 
explainable  truths  do  not  constitute  all  the 
truths  we  are  competent  to  hold;  that  above 
and  beyond  the  Hmits  of  expression  sweep  the 
fields  and  heights  of  silence ;  that  no  creed  is 
exhaustive,  —  that  no  creed  can  be,  because 
there  are  truths  which  transcend  formulation, 
and  which  must  be  read  between  the  lines; 
that  I  can  never  say  all  I  believe  ;  that  this  is 
not  that  I  believe  less  than  I  say,  but  that  I 
believe  more  and  greater  than  I  can  say ;  that 

1  1  Jno.  V.  12-20. 


SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL  RELIGION.        81 

there  are  phases  of  God's  Bemg,  His  counsels, 
His  decrees,  His  esoteric  Life ;  and  that  there 
are  phases  of  human  experience  and  destiny 
which  lie  in  ranges  transcending  human  affirma- 
tion, and  calling  for  faith  and  for  hope,  whose 
wings  would  be  broken,  whose  breath  would 
be  stifled,  by  words,  —  whose  one  condition  of 
living  at  such  an  altitude  is  silence. 

A  time  to  keep  silence  !  Of  the  day  and 
the  hour  when  that  time  shall  break  in  calm 
waves  of  stillness  over  any  troubled  soul  know- 
eth  no  man  save  as  the  Father  leads  him  on. 
There  is  a  time  when  silence  is  the  utterance 
of  wisdom  ;  a  time  when  silence  is  the  answer 
of  power  ;  a  time  when  silence  is  the  speech  of 
faith ;  a  time  when  silence  is  the  unspeakable 
hope. 

There  is,  I  say,  a  time  when  silence  is  the 
utterance  of  wisdom.  It  is  the  time  when  the 
soul  frames  before  itself  the  conception  of 
God's  eternal  decrees.  ^'  Be  still,  and  know 
that  I  am  God."  ^  Be  still  and  know  !  Relate 
those  words  to  one  another  ;  relate  them  as 
cause  and  effect,  —  Be  still  and  know,  —  and 
they  open  to  you  a  wondrous  suggestion,  —  of 
knowledge,  whose  price  is  stillness,  whose  an- 
nihilation   is  the  confusion,  the    impotence  of 

1  Ps.  xlvi.  10. 


82        SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL  RELIGION. 

words.  "  Be  still  and  know  that  I  am  God." 
Is  it  an  injustice  to  the  powers  of  language, 
an  injustice  to  our  own  intelligence,  to  admit 
that  the  modus  of  God's  secret  consciousness 
transcends  verbal  formulation,  except  where 
God  the  Holy  Ghost  has  used  language  in  the 
process  of  revelation?  Is  it  not  rather  an 
acknowledgment  of  strength  than  a  confession 
of  weakness,  that  in  the  endeavor  to  conceive 
of  the  Divine  consciousness,  and  the  Divine 
counsels,  and  the  Divine  decrees,  we  are  per- 
mitted to  attain,  through  the  medium  of  silent 
communion,  a  conception  of  God  superior  to 
and  more  boundless  than  any  conception  which 
we  can  formulate  under  the  inflexible  forms  of 
lanofuao^e?  Do  we  not  come  nearer  to  God  in 
thought  than  we  can  ever  describe  in  speech  ? 
Has  not  the  communion  of  the  invisible  soul 
with  the  Invisible  God  attained  its  highest 
consummations  when  —  I  will  not  say  speech 
deserted  us,  but  when  we  deserted  speech,  and 
climbed  into  the  holy  mount  of  silence,  and 
were  still,  and  knew  that  God  is  God  ?  When 
I  ask  myself,  "  Why  does  our  conception  of 
God  become  silent  as  it  becomes  supreme  ? " 
I  find  no  answer  but  that  in  which  Paul  de- 
scribed to  the  Corinthians,  in  faltering  words, 
the  crowning  experience  of  his  spiritual  life : 


SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL  RELIGION.        83 

"  I  know  a  man  in  Christ,  —  fourteen  years 
ago,  —  such  a  one  caught  up  even  to  the  third 
heaven.  And  I  know  such  a  man,  how  that 
he  was  caught  up  into  Paradise,  and  heard 
unspeakable  words  which  it  is  not  lawful  for 
a  man  to  utter."  ^ 

There  is  a  time  when  silence  is  the  answer  of 
power.  It  is  the  time  when  controversy  seeks 
to  overthrow  our  personal  faith  in  Christ.  In 
the  day  when  Jesus  stood  (even  as  to  many 
He  appears  yet  to  stand)  before  the  judgment 
seat  of  man,  when  He  was  accused  by  the  chief 
priests  and  elders.  He  answered  nothing.  "  Then 
saith  Pilate  unto  Him  :  Hearest  Thou  not  how 
many  things  they  witness  against  Thee  ?  And 
He  gave  him  no  answer,  not  even  to  one 
word,  insomuch  that  the  governor  marvelled 
greatly."  -  Was  He  deaf?  Did  He  not  really 
hear  the  charges  brought  against  Him  ?  Or  was 
His  Soul,  even  in  that  turbulent  and  distress- 
ing hour,  communing  with  His  Father  in  that 
inner  sanctuary  of  power,  and  girding  Itself  so 
diligently  for  the  coming  Cross  He  thought 
not  of  His  accusers  save  to  forgive  them  and  to 
pray  for  them  ?  The  possibility  of  controversy 
impends  over  the  path  of  every  Christian ;  he 

1  2  Cor.  xii.  2-4,  R.  V. 

2  St.  Matt,  xxvii.  13,  14,  R.  V. 


84        SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL   RELIGION. 

is  likely  at  any  time  to  have  his  faith  assailed, 
his  hope  questioned.  Nor  should  he  purchase 
an  ignohle  peace  by  evading  that  meek  and 
reverent  answer  which,  alike  on  the  lip  of  the 
scholar  and  of  the  child,  is  a  becoming  tribute 
to  the  Master.  There  is  no  intrinsic  unfair- 
ness in  controversy,  no  reason  for  resenting  the 
challenge  surely  to  be  flung  at  us  sooner  or 
later.  But  there  comes  a  stage  in  controversy 
when  the  effort  is  made  to  impugn  and  to  over- 
throw our  personal  faith  in  Christ ;  when  He 
is  brought  to  the  judgment-seat  and  taunted 
with  false  witness,  as  of  old ;  and  when  we, 
identified  with  Him,  are  asked  to  reply  in  His 
stead.  He  has  told  us,  by  His  own  conduct, 
what  to  do.  It  is  a  time  to  keep  silence. 
Where  He  no  longer  spoke  for  Himself,  we 
need  no  longer  speak  for  Him.  Silence  was 
then,  silence  is  still,  the  answer  of  power ; 
silence  like  His  Own,  strong,  patient,  self-con- 
sciously Divine.  Well  may  they  who  have  the 
witness  in  themselves  regard  life  as  too  short, 
too  busy,  and  too  grand  to  spend,  in  the  quib- 
bles of  controversy,  strength  that  should  be 
kept  for  work,  for  prayer  and  for  suffering ! 

There  is  a  time  when  silence  is  the  speech  of 
faith.  It  is  the  time  when  the  iron  of  be- 
reavement and  other  suffering  enters  into  the 


SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL   RELIGION.        85 

soul.  "  I  was  dumb,  I  opened  not  my  mouth, 
because  Thou  didst  it."  ^  This  silence,  which 
asks  not  why  God  did,  but  is  dumb  because 
He  did  it,  is  the  highest  eloquence  of  faith. 
For  the  instinct  of  suffering  is  to  ask  a  rea- 
son. None  who  have  been  much  with  suffering 
can  doubt  that  this  is  the  instinct.  The  first 
word  in  the  vocabulary  of  the  deeper  sorrows 
is,  "  Why  ?  "  Sometimes  that  word  is  spoken 
in  the  bitterness  of  a  broken-hearted  protest 
against  the  will  of  God,  but  far  oftener  as  the 
distressing  and  unsatisfying  question  of  a  baf- 
fled Christian,  torturing  the  spirit  in  vain  efforts 
to  assign  a  reason  for  the  stroke.  I  thank  God 
that  faith  consists  neither  in  asking  nor  in  an- 
swering that  terrible  "  Why  ?  "  —  that  the  high- 
est speech  of  faith  in  such  an  hour  is  silence. 
"I  was  dumb  because  Thou  didst  it."  Faith  is 
in  being  silent  when  one  knows  not  why.  We 
only  know  that  suffering  is  a  part  of  our  ap- 
pointment here. 

"  If,  impatient,  thou  let  slip  thy  cross, 
Thou  wilt  not  find  it  in  this  world  again, 
Nor  in  another  :  here,  and  here  alone, 
Is  given  thee  to  suffer  for  God's  sake. 
In  other  worlds  we  shall  more  perfectly 
Serve  Him  and  love  Him,  praise  Him,  work  for  Him, 
Grow  near  and  nearer  Him  with  all  delight. 
But  then  we  shall  not  any  more  he  called 
To  suffer,  which  is  our  appointment  here> 

1  Ps.  xxxix.  9. 


86        SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL   RELIGION. 

"  Let  us  take  lieed  in  time 
That  God  may  now  be  glorified  in  us. 
And  while  we  suffer,  let  us  set  our  souls 
To  suffer  perfectly"  ;  since  this  alone, 
The  suffering,  which  is  this  world's  special  grace, 
May  here  be  perfected  and  left  behind."  ^ 

Finally  :  There  is  a  time  when  silence  is  the 
unspeakable  hope.  It  is  the  time  when  the 
mystery  of  human  destiny  overpowers  us.  For 
some  of  us,  Hfe  in  its  past,  its  present,  and  its 
future  aspects  presents  such  impenetrable  mys- 
teries, we  see  such  things  in  our  own  life 
problems  and  in  the  problem  and  destiny  of 
innumerable  other  beings,  as  drive  us  to  the  un- 
speakable despaii'  or  to  the  unspeakable  hope. 
It  is  vain,  it  is  unlawful,  it  is  rash,  it  is  un- 
scriptural,  it  is  impossible  to  put  an  unspeaka- 
ble hope  into  words  of  af&rmation.  To  af&rm 
an  unspeakable  hope  is  to  destroy  it  as  a  hope 
by  making  it  an  unscriptural  dogma.  But  who 
could  live,  other  than  a  life  of  strange  dulness, 
T\ithout  that  unspeakable,  unwritable  hope  :  the 
hope  that  stiU,  amidst  thwarted  longings  and 
unanswered  prayers,  we  shall  yet  not  fail  of 
revealing  unto  others  the  All-perfect  Good,  nor 
fail,  out  of  hunger,  to  be  made  satisfied,  out 
of  weariness,  to  be  made  strong ;  the  hope 
that  they  for  whom  we  have  prayed  shall  not 
1  The  Disciples,  H.  E.  H.  King,  pp.  118,  119. 


SILENCE  IN  PERSONAL  RELIGION.        87 

perish  as  if  we  had  not  prayed,  nor  die  as  if 
we  had  not  lived  ?  Who  shall  forbid  that  un- 
speakable hope  ?  Shall  the  Interceding  Saviour 
forbid  it,  Whose  Soul,  in  travail  still,  is  one 
day  to  be  satisfied?^  Who  shall  forbid  the  un- 
speakable hope  that,  when  the  clouds  lift  and 
the  smoke  of  time  is  blown  before  the  clear 
wind  of  eternity,  we  may  see  that  the  power  of 
the  Cross  has  conquered  in  many  a  heart  where, 
by  all  outward  tokens,  it  seemed  to  have  had  no 
victory?  Who  shall  forbid  the  unspeakable 
hope  that,  when  the  clouds  Hft  and  the  smoke 
of  time  is  blown  before  the  clear  wind  of  eter- 
nity, we  may  find  that  the  agencies  of  the 
Redeeming  Sacrifice  have  penetrated,  in  ways 
and  unto  depths  unknown  to  us,  into  that 
countless  throng  of  human  intelligences  who 
for  two  hundred  generations  have  been  swept 
into  eternity  with  no  human  voice  to  tell  them 
that  Jesus  is  the  Redeemer,  slain  from  the 
foundation  of  the  world,^  and  that  His  Blood 
cleanseth  us  from  all  sin  ?  ^     Amen. 

1  Isa.  liii.  11.  '-»  Kev.  xiii.  8.  ^  i  jno.  i.  7. 


VI. 
THE  MINISTRY  OF  CHANGES. 


VI. 

THE  MINISTRY   OF  CHANGES. 

"  Because  they  have  no  changes,  therefore  they  fear  not 
God."  — Psalm  Iv.  19. 

I  WOULD  speak  of  the  Ministry  of  Changes. 
The  verse  of  which  the  text  is  a  part  is  ranked 
by  Hebraists  as  one  of  the  obscure  verses  of 
God's  Word.  Ewald,  Hengstenberg,  Perowne, 
and  Thrupp  are  in  opposition  to  one  another 
regarding  the  meaning  of  the  Psalmist :  but  I 
can  find  from  them  and  from  others  nothing 
clearer  or  more  probable  than  the  rendering  in 
our  own  Common  Version,  and  that  rendering 
contains  a  truth  so  searching  and  so  suggestive, 
I  take  the  reading  in  the  Common  Version  just 
as  it  stands :  "  Because  they  have  no  changes, 
therefore  they  fear  not  God." 

When  we  look  upon  the  life  of  a  community 
for  any  considerable  period  of  time,  we  dis- 
cover very  great  differences  in  the  allotment  of 
life's  serious  and  trying  changes.  Three  types 
of  experience  present  themselves.  We  see  some 
individuals  and  some  households  which  during 


92  THE  MINISTRY  OF  CHANGES, 

this  long  period  are  exempt  from  all  serious 
and  saddening  change :  the  tide  of  peaceful 
prosperity  is  one  long  flood  with  no  ebb ;  the 
main  conditions  of  living  appear  established 
on  foundations  that  cannot  be  shaken  ;  year 
follows  year  in  tranquil  succession ;  and  we 
say,  "  They  are  not  in  trouble  like  other  men." 
But  at  their  very  side,  all  these  years,  have  been 
persons  and  households  tried  with  the  disci- 
pline of  incessant  changes :  almost  no  element 
of  their  life  has  been  untouched  by  the  altera- 
tions of  time  ;  almost  no  quiet  S]3aces  of  per- 
manence have  been  granted  unto  them  ;  their 
life  has  been  transitional,  experimental,  irregu- 
lar. Between  these  two  extreme  types  is  a 
third :  the  home  that  through  the  greater  part 
of  this  period  has  been  sheltered  from  changes  ; 
has  enjoyed  a  rich  measure  of  that  blessed  and 
bountiful  sameness.  But  now  it  has  had  not 
many  changes  ;  perhaps  only  one  or  two  :  and 
oh,  how  they  have  altered  the  meaning  of 
life  !  One  dear  lamb  has  been  taken  out  of 
the  fold ;  but  how  that  single  going  forth  has 
chano^ed  all !  One  dear-friend  influence  has 
vanished  out  of  the  daily  life  ;  but  how  many 
things  have  lost  the  touch  of  that  light-giving 
friend ! 

It  is  true  there  are  many  changes  coming 


THE  MINISTRY  OF  CHANGES.  93 

upon  us,  in  the  bounty  of  God,  which  are 
always  and  only  happy.  Every  sunrise  is  a 
change ;  every  new  year ;  every  new  voice ; 
every  new  friend  ;  every  new  power  is  a  change. 

"  New  ever}'  morning  is  the  Love 
Our  wakening  and  uprising  prove. 
New  mercies  each  returning  day 
Hover  around  us  as  we  pray." 

Yes,  the  multiplyings  of  our  precious  things 
are  changes :  but  it  is  not  of  these  changes  I 
speak  to-day  ;  not  of  the  gifts  we  gain,  but 
of  the  gifts  we  lose  ;  not  of  the  changes  that 
make  our  life  more  full  and  more  complete,  but 
of  those  that  leave  it  emptier  ;  of  those  that 
take  out  of  it  joys  long  delighted  in,  help  long- 
relied  upon  ;  of  those  that  in  their  occurrence 
shatter  familiar  conditions,  and  force  the  soul 
forth  into  untried  and  uu desired  pilgrimage ; 
of  those  that  show  us  our  own  weakness,  and 
compel  us  trembling  to  begin  again  the  great 
experiment  of  living. 

The  thought  of  changes  is  to  most  of  us  a 
sad  thought.  To  some,  more  than  to  others, 
it  is  a  most  bitter  thought ;  for  some  natures, 
more  than  others,  depend  upon  and  delight  in 
the  unchanged  continuance  of  every  dear  and 
treasured  influence  and  possession.  There  are 
undoubted   vestiges  of    the  nomadic   spirit  in 


94  THE  MINISTRY   OF  CHANGES, 

some  hearts,  by  which  it  becomes  easy  for  them 
to  submit  to  great  changes,  —  to  strike  their 
tent  here  to-day  and  pitch  it  far  yonder  to-mor- 
row ;  to  leave  old  friends  and  gather  new  ones. 
But  other  hearts  strike  deep  roots  into  all  that 
they  love,  and  bind  with  strong,  living  ties  fa- 
miliar blessings ;  and  there  are  some  hearts  that 
have  bled  to  death  in  changes,  for  their  cling- 
ing affections  were,  like  arteries,  full  with  the 
heart's  blood.  To  most  of  us,  therefore,  I  be- 
lieve the  thought  of  changes  is  a  sad  thought. 
There  are  reasons  for  this. 

We  depend  on  that  which  is.  The  vine  is 
planted  at  the  root  of  the  cedar-tree,  and 
though,  had  there  been  no  trea,  it  might  have 
found  a  fence  to  climb  upon,  or  it  might 
have  wandered  in  the  grass,  it  now  appropriates 
what  is,  and  hangs  its  life  upon  it.  It  wreathes 
that  strong  stem  with  clinging  arms  ;  it  mul- 
tipHes  itself  amidst  the  branches ;  it  crowns 
the  cedar-top  in  autumn  with  a  flaming  diadem 
of  scarlet  and  gold.  So  we  appropriate  what 
is,  and  grow  upon  it.  And  although,  had 
the  providential  conditions  of  our  life  been 
other  than  they  are,  we  should  never  have  un- 
derstood our  lack  of  these,  it  is  true  that 
God  has  given  us  these  and  we  have  clung  to 
them,   we   have    grown   upon   them,   we    have 


THE  MINISTRY  OF  CHANGES.  95 

been  upheld  and  uplifted  by  them,  we  have 
expressed  and  completed  ourselves  by  means  of 
them. 

The  thought  of  changes  is  sad  because  we 
grow  established  in  a  satisfying  routine.  We 
are  working  hard,  but  in  work  we  love  ;  we  have 
many  duties,  but  we  have  learned  them,  have 
arranged  them,  and  familiarity  has  made  them 
dear  ;  our  loved  ones  have  brought  us  added 
cares,  but  their  daily  affection  is  more  than  com- 
pensation, and  the  routine  of  life  grows  satis- 
fying. It  is  blessed  to  know  well  and  to  be 
well  known.  Established  methods  ;  home  cus- 
toms made  easy  by  unnumbered  repetitions ; 
friends  whose  very  weaknesses  have  grown  with 
time  not  only  tolerable  but  precious,  —  these 
make  up  the  dear  routine  across  which  the 
thought  of  changes  falls  like  the  mournful 
shadow  of  a  cloud. 

The  thought  of  changes  is  sad  because  we 
lean  on  that  which  gives  happiness.  We  love 
the  real  makers  of  our  happiness.  Dependence 
upon  existing  sources  of  happiness  is  the  first 
intuition  of  the  heart;  and  by  as  much  as  the 
greatness  of  happiness  is,  by  so  much  are  the 
terror  and  dismay  of  the  heart,  under  the 
thought  of  change.  How  strong  yet  how 
pathetic  is  the  instinct  to  banish  the  thought 


96  THE  MINISTRY   OF  CHANGES. 

of  changes  when  the  fountams  of  joy  are 
brimful !  If  the  wish  of  a  happy  heart  could 
make  the  sun  stand  still,  late  indeed  would 
have  been  the  sunset  on  some  days  that  we 
remember. 

And  yet,  though  this  our  first  thought  is  so 
true,  thouo^h  the  thouoht  of  chancres  is  a  sad 
thought,  it  is  equally  true  that  the  absence  of 
great  changes  is  a  condition  of  spiritual  dan- 
ger. "Because  they  have  no  changes,  there- 
fore they  fear  not  God."  There  is  a  ministry 
in  changes,  —  a  ministry  of  grace,  which  He 
AYho  changes  not  would  work  in  us  ;  and  they 
who  have  no  changes  must  lose  that  ministry, 
and  do  in  fact  encounter  perils  in  their  spirit- 
ual life.  Some  lives  are  wonderfully  protected 
from  the  great,  heart-burdening  changes  which 
are  heaped  upon  others.  For  long  periods  of 
years  "they  are  not  in  trouble  as  other  men  ; " 
their  home  life  is  singularly  tranquil;  their 
nest  is  not  stirred  ;  they  escape  the  cross.  This 
immunity  from  changes  brings  certain  spiritual 
perils.  And  while  I  do  not  say  that  all  wdio 
have  no  changes  are  overcome  by  these  perils, 
yet  all  such  are  subject  to  them,  and  should  be 
warned  against  them.  Where  the  life  of  an 
individual,  or  the  fife  of  a  family,  glides  on  for 
a  long,  long  time  without  any  severe  changes, 


THE  MINISTRY   OF  CHANGES.  97 

the  serene  sameness  of  prosperity  brings  these 
dangers  :  First,  The  under- valuation  of  truth. 
Unbroken  prosperity  in  personal  or  in  family 
life  tends  toward  the  under-valuation  of  truth. 
I  have  sometimes  seen  truly  strong  and  varied 
landscapes  that  became  flat  and  tame  in  un- 
broken sunlight.  I  know  some  hills  whose 
beauty  I  never  understood  except  on  days  of 
many  cloud-shadows.  And  when  we  remem- 
ber that  the  gospel  of  salvation  is  a  story  of 
pain,  we  need  not  wonder  if  our  life  should  need 
the  great  cloud-shadows  to  make  us  see  the 
grandeur  of  Calvary.  To  him  who  has  suf- 
fered as  a  Christian,  the  sufferings  of  Christ 
no  longer  lack  meaning  ;  to  him  who  has  sub- 
mitted in  meekness  to  the  severity  of  changes, 
the  Saviour's  grand  renunciation  of  Himself 
grows  terribly  and  gloriously  real.  The  peril 
of  prosperity  is  deadness  and  dulness  toward 
truth  ;  hearing  as  though  one  heard  not ;  see- 
ing as  though  one  saw  not ;  handling  and  tast- 
ing the  bread  and  wine  of  truth  as  though  no 
consecrating  Hands  were  offering  them  to  us, 
no  Word  Incarnate  saying  of  them :  They  are 
My  Body  and  My  Blood. 

Another  peril  which  comes  in  the  absence  of 
changes  is  the  decay  of  gratitude.  They  to 
whom  life  has  long    been  rich    and  full,  and 


98  THE  MINISTRY   OF  CHANGES. 

sheltered  from  impoverishing  changes,  are  in 
danger  of  losing  that  blessed  grace  of  grate- 
fulness which  sanctifies  the  joy  of  possession. 
We  often  speak  of  those  who  are  hardened  by 
adversity  :  are  there  not  as  often  those  who  are 
hardened  and  alienated  from  the  Hfe  of  God, 
and  from  the  proper  appreciation  of  His  gifts, 
by  prolonged,  changeless  prosperity?  And  in 
speaking  of  prosperity,  I  do  not  only  mean 
great  financial  abundance,  but  also  the  pro- 
longed enjoyment  of  other  and  simpler  things 
which  have  yet  more  to  do  with  the  complete- 
ness of  life.  Such  is  the  gift  of  health,  when 
whole  years  have  passed  without  one  hour  of 
prostration  or  of  pain  ;  when  the  sense  of  bod- 
ily limitation  is  forgotten  in  the  pride  of  vital- 
ity. Such  also  is  the  gift  of  home  life,  when 
the  circle  is  unbroken,  when  no  heart-rending 
separations  have  occurred  to  test  the  inten- 
sity of  love ;  when  a  man  begins  to  feel  home 
life  less  wonderful  and  more  customary.  Such 
also  is  the  gift  of  religious  opportunity,  when 
church-going  becomes  a  habit,  prayer  a  form, 
and  (I  must  dare  to  say  it)  the  Holy  Commu- 
nion conventional.  These  are  some  of  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which,  from  many  a  heart  blessed 
with  them  through  long,  unchanging  years, 
gratitude  has  decayed  and  fallen  away.     One 


THE  MINISTRY  OF  CHANGES.  99 

may  have  his  church  so  abundantly,  his  home 
so  famiharly,  his  health  so  confidently,  that  all 
conception  of  these  things  as  gifts  of  God  may 
fade  from  him.  "  Because  he  has  no  changes, 
he  fears  not  God." 

Another  peril,  and  a  greater  one,  which 
comes  in  the  absence  of  changes,  is  the  loss  of 
the  sense  of  dependence.  In  the  10th  Psalm 
a  description  is  given  of  one  who  fears  not 
God ;  and  one  aspect  of  his  character  is  the 
absence  of  the  sense  of  dependence.  "  He 
hath  said  in  his  heart,  I  shall  not  be  moved ; 
for  I  shall  never  be  in  adversity."  ^  Into  many 
a  life  has  crept  that  most  subtle  and  most  ter- 
rible loss,  in  times  of  unbroken,  unchanged 
happiness,  —  the  loss  of  the  sense  of  depend- 
ence. It  has  affected  the  soul's  judgment  con- 
cerning earthly  things  ;  it  has  undermined  its 
earnestness  in  prayer ;  it  has  tempted  it  to 
intrust  life  to  the  guidance  of  its  own  saga- 
city, rather  than  to  the  guidance  of  the  Spirit 
and  the  Providence  of  God.  This  soul,  de- 
ceived by  its  own  apparently  established  pros- 
perity, by  its  own  firm  hold  on  the  hearts  of 
friends,  whispers  confidently  to  itself  :  "  I  shall 
never  be  moved,  for  I  shall  never  be  in  adver- 
sity." It  forgets  that  it  is  but  a  child,  and 
1  Ps.  X.  6. 


100  THE  MINISTRY  OF  CHANGES. 

less  than  a  child,  under  the  irresistible  sweep  of 
God's  Will,  —  that  He  is  able  with  one  breath 
to  blow  away  the  established  constructions  of 
years,  to  melt  the  bands  that  hold  friends 
tocrether. 

There  is  a  degree  yet  deeper  in  which  the 
sense  of  dependence  has  been  lost  through 
prolonged  prosperity.  The  sense  of  depend- 
ence upon  Christ  as  the  only  Refuge  of  the 
soul  may  readily  be  imperilled  by  conditions  of 
lonof,  unchanofed  success.  The  success  of  life 
fosters  at  length  a  spiritual  self-confidence.  A 
good  reputation,  acknowledged  influence,  the 
favor  and  friendship  of  the  powerful,  —  these 
things  may  bring  upon  any  of  us  the  sin  of 
Laodicea  :  "  Because  thou  sayest  I  am  rich,  and 
increased  with  goods,  and  have  need  of  nothing, 
and  knowest  not  that  thou  art  wretched  and 
miserable  and  poor  and  blind  and  naked,  I 
counsel  thee  to  buy  of  Me  gold  tried  in  the  fire, 
that  thou  mayest  be  rich,  and  white  raiment, 
that  thou  mayest  be  clothed  ;  and  anoint  thine 
eyes  with  eye  salve,  that  thou  mayest  see."  ^ 
There  are  many  who  need  these  words ;  many 
whose  steady  and  prolonged  success  in  earthly 
things  has  built  up  beneath  them  a  complaisant 
self -righteousness  which  resents  the  idea  of  being 

1  Rev.  iii.  17,  18. 


THE  MINISTRY   OF  CHANGES.  101 

called  a  helpless  and  lost  sinner,  depending 
wholly  for  salvation  on  the  Blood  of  the  Son 
of  God. 

"  Because  they  have  no  changes,  therefore 
they  fear  not  God."  There  is  another  thought 
in  these  words  which  we  cannot  state  without 
remembering  how  constantly  men  try  to  forget 
it.  The  only  thing  perfectly  certain  in  Hfe  is 
its  chano'efulness.  The  law  of  chanofes  is  a 
law  that  cannot  change.  It  has  already  been 
carried  out  in  every  life  that  has  ever  lived 
on  earth  ;  it  shall  be  carried  out  to  the  letter 
in  our  lives.  Those  who  seem,  as  we  look  back 
over  the  last  few  years,  to  have  had  many 
changes,  are  not  the  subjects  of  any  peculiar 
law ;  those  who  seem,  as  we  look  back  over  the 
same  period,  to  have  had  no  changes,  or  almost 
none,  have  escaped  the  operation  of  this  same 
law  only  for  a  season.  If  any  one  has  built, 
upon  the  record  of  a  few  unbroken  years,  a  the- 
ory of  going  on  thus  always,  —  has  Avhispered 
confidently  to  himself,  as  he  marked  the  vicis- 
situdes of  others,  "  I  shall  never  be  moved," 
—  he  is  altogether  mistaken.  For  the  only 
thing  certain  in  life  is  that  it  will  change.  The 
changes  will  come  to  each  of  us,  as  they  have 
already  come  and  are  coming  to  so  many  of  us. 
The  firmest  home  that  ever  was  built  must  be 


102  THE  MINISTRY   OF  CHANGES. 

shaken  some  time  :  the  dearest  circle  that  ever 
was  formed  must  he  broken  some  time  ;  the 
strongest  health  that  ever  was  given  must  fail 
some  time  ;  the  most  precious  work  that  ever 
was  done  must  end  some  time.  You  cannot 
keep  it  out  by  love,  by  will,  by  law,  by  strata- 
gem, by  prayer.  Life  is  change,  —  death  is 
change.  Only  Oxe  can  say,  "  I  change  not," 
and  He  is  the  Lord/ 

What,  then,  is  the  meanmg,  what  is  the  min- 
istry, of  our  changes,  these  which  are  coming 
to  us  now,  —  to  some  slowly,  to  some  swiftly, 
—  in  some  homes  many  small  changes,  in  other 
homes  one  or  two  great  changes,  which  them- 
selves have  changed  all  ?  I  answer,  the  minis- 
try of  changes  is  in  part  this  :  To  widen  our 
vicAv ;  to  deepen  our  humility ;  to  intensify  our 
trust ;  to  bring  us  to  present  action. 

The  ministry  of  changes  is  to  widen  our 
view.  "  There  is  that  scattereth,  and  yet  increas- 
eth."  ^  What  a  wonderful  wideness  of  meaning 
in  those  words  when  we  apply  them  to  some 
of  life's  chano'es  !  Here  is  a  home  that  long: 
was  unbroken,  but  now  one  has  gone  afar  into 
the  Paradise  of  God.  Has  there  been  no  in- 
creasino'  from  that  scattering^  ?  Thouo-h  life 
is  sadder,  is  it  not  also  wider,  —  wider  in  the 

1  Mai.  iii.  6.  2  Proy.  ^i.  24. 


THE  MINISTRY   OF  CHANGES.  103 

region  of  its  affection,  wider  in  the  scope  of  its 
faith,  wider  in  the  reach  of  its  hope?  Oh, 
wdio  can  tell  the  number  of  those  wdiose 
thoughts,  whose  purpose,  whose  whole  spirit, 
have  been  immeasurably  widened  by  the  disci- 
pline of  changes  !  How  often  the  shattering  of 
a  human  plan  has  set  a  soul  free  in  some  wider 
plan  of  God  ! 

The  ministry  of  changes  is  to  deepen  our 
humility.  To  a  proud  spirit,  the  intrusive 
absoluteness  of  many  changes  is  most  humiliat- 
ing. There  are  few  things  we  grow  so  proud 
of  as  our  power  to  plan  adroitly  and  to  reach 
foreseen  conclusions.  And  when  one  of  God's 
great,  calm,  resistless  plans  comes  sweeping 
silently  along  like  a  noisel-ess  wind,  and  sets 
our  little  plans  aside  like  wreaths  of  dust,  the 
pride  of  the  natural  heart  is  sorely  chastised. 
But  did  we  not  need  it  ?  Was  our  heart  like 
the  heart  of  a  little  child  ?  Were  we  in  S3niipa- 
thy,  before  this  discipline,  with  Him  wdio  said : 
"  Not  My  Will,  but  Thine,  be  done  "  ?^ 

The  ministry  of  changes  is  to  intensify  our 
trust.  Think  not  God  chastises  our  pride  for 
the  sake  of  chastising  it,  —  breaks  in  upon  our 
plans  with  the  great  hammer-strokes  of  His 
changes  only  to  cover  us  with  the  dust  of 
^  St.  Luke  xxii.  42. 


104  THE  MINISTRY   OF  CHANGES. 

humiliation.  God's  changes  look  beyond  the 
humbhnof  o£  one's  heart  to  the  trust  that  is 
learned  in  humility.  They  only  know  what 
true  calmness  is,  who,  through  the  contraven- 
tion of  cherished  plans,  and  through  the  humil- 
iation of  confident  endeavors,  and  through  the 
intrusion  of  startling  changes,  have  learned  the 
infiniteness  of  God's  power,  and  have  placed 
their  lives  in  God's  Hand,  waiting  now  for 
direction. 

The  ministry  of  changes  is  to  bring  us  to 
present  action.  Now  or  never  !  Much  of  life's 
sweetest,  best  opportunity  is  thus  bounded.  Is 
there  love  to  be  given  ?  give  it  now  !  Is  there 
wrono^   to    be  f oro-iven  ?    f oroive  it  now !      Is 

O  O  O 

there  faith  to  be  confessed  ?  confess  it  now ! 
Is  there  work  of  Christ-like  ministry  to  be 
done  ?  do  it  now !  Work  on  in  the  To-day, 
for  by  To-morrow  much  may  have  changed, 
and  changed  forever.     Amen. 


VII. 

THE  EMBRACE  OF  GOD. 


VIL 

THE   EMBRACE   OF   GOD. 

"  And   underneath   are    the   Everlasting   Arms."  —  Deut. 
xxxiii.  27. 

Our  theme  is,  The  Embrace  of  God.  Not 
that  we  may  and  must  take  hold  of  God,  but 
that  God  does  take  hold  of  us.  Underneath  — 
underneath  all  that  makes  up  for  us  the  activ- 
ity of  life ;  underneath  its  faith  and  its  fear ; 
underneath  its  best  work  and  its  poorest  work ; 
underneath  its  fitful  courage  and  its  frequent 
dread,  —  underneath  all  are  the  Everlasting 
Arms.  The  Embrace  of  God  is  deeper  than 
our  depths ;  when  the  Everlasting  Arms  take 
hold  of  us,  they  hold  all  that  we  are ;  they 
supply  all  that  we  are  not. 

That  we  may  and  must  take  hold  of  God,  is 
true,  yet  only  half  the  truth ;  that  Ave  must 
ever  be  stretching  out  the  hands  of  prayer  and 
the  hands  of  faith,  to  lay  hold  of  "  the  life 
that  is  life  indeed,"  to  touch  and  handle  and 
hold  things  unseen,  is  true,  yet  only  half  the 


108  THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD. 

triitli.  The  strono;er  half  is  the  Embrace  of 
God,  and  underneath,  even  underneath  our  try- 
mg  to  take  hold  of  God,  are  the  Everlasting 
Arms.  The  highest  form  of  faith  is  under- 
standinof  how  to  rest  in  God.  The  ultimate 
thing  in  a  complete  life  is  not  doing  but  rest- 
ing :  there  must  be  doing,  and  always  doing ; 
yet  doing  is  not  ultimate,  for  underneath 
(whether  it  be  doing  or  suffering)  are  the  Ever- 
lasting Arms.  To  feel  this  is  to  know  our  por- 
tion in  God  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

There  is  everything  in. the  present  age  to 
make  us  forget  this,  the  best  thing  about  our 
life.  The  present  age  (and  no  doubt'  rightly) 
sets  a  premium  upon  doing.  "  What  can  you 
do  ?  "  "  What  have  you  done  ?  "  "  What  are 
you  doing  ?  "  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 
These  are  the  four  questions  that  are  the  four 
gospels  of  modern  secularism. 

What  can  you  do  ?  Judge  a  man  by  his 
abilities  :  Can  he  hold  his  own  ?  Can  he  com- 
pete with  his  fellows  ?     . 

What  have  you  done  ?  Judge  a  man  by  his 
record  :  Has  he  held  his  own  ?  Has  he  given 
the  ring-  of  the  true  metal  when  struck  in  the 
fight  by  the  blows  of  difficulty  ?  Has  he 
revealed  power  for  regular  work,  and  skill  for 
emergency  ? 


THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD.  109 

What  are  you  doing  ?  Judge  a  man  by  his 
occupation :  Is  his  work  good  ?  Is  he  doing 
hiofh-class  service  ?     Is  he  industrious  ? 

What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  Judge  a  man 
by  his  plans :  Has  he  foresight  ?  Is  he  vis- 
ionary ?     Is  he  ambitious  ? 

These  are  the  four  gospels  of  modern  secu- 
larism. Each  sets  a  premium  upon  doing ;  and 
in  many  tilings  it  is  Avise  and  safe  to  set  a 
premium  on  doing,  and  to  judge  men  by  their 
ability,  by  their  record,  by  their  occupation, 
and  by  their  plans.  If  good  work  is  to  be  well 
done,  doers  have  to  be  sifted  by  stern  tests. 

And  quite  right,  too,  that  in  the  Christian 
life  a  premium  should  be  set  on  doing,  as 
most  certainly  is  the  case  to-day.  Never  has 
that  bugle-call,  which  summons  us  to  our  work, 
rung  more  loudly  through  the  Church  than 
it  rings  to-day.  Imperatively  does  Christ,  the 
Great  Worker,  say,  "  Follow  Me  ;  "  and  most 
enthusiastically  is  His  command  echoed  by  His 
under-of&cers  down  the  ranks.  Work  is 
preached  from  all  pulpits  ;  work  is  animating 
all  Christian  bodies,  and  cementing  the  alliance 
of  denominations ;  work,  in  new  forms,  is  at- 
tracting new  workers  who  were  never  workers 
before.  I  sometimes  ask  myself,  Is  work  being 
deified  just  now  ?     Is  the  Church  making  this 


110  THE  EMBRACE    OF  GOD. 

age  the  apotheosis  of  work  ?  For  it  is  com- 
mended as  a  cure  for  almost  all  spiritual  ills. 
It  is  urged  as  a  remedy  for  faltering  faith  :  if 
your  mind  is  tormented  with  doubts,  just  throw 
yourself  into  work  and  your  doubts  will  leave 
you.  It  is  urged  as  a  protection  against  sin  : 
if  you  are  tempted  of  the  Devil,  just  fill  your 
life  mth  work,  and  you  will  have  no  time 
left  to  attend  to  his  solicitations.  It  is  com- 
mended as  a  relief  from  sorrow  :  if  you  are 
greatly  afflicted,  do  not  remain  in  morbid  in- 
activity ;  work,  and  in  doing  for  others  you 
shall  be  lifted  above  yourself.  All  true  !  All 
true !  Nobly,  blessedly  true.  Christ's  truth, 
every  word  of  it.  Yet,  after  all,  only  half  the 
truth,  and  not  enough  without  the  other  half. 
Work  seems  all-sufficient  because  there  is  so 
much  of  it,  and  of  such  noble  kinds.  "  Doing  " 
seems  everything,  because  there  are  so  many 
doing,  and  doing  with  all  their  might,  for  love 
of  the  Lord  Jesus.  But  work  is  not  all-suffi- 
cient, and  doing  is  not  everything  ;  and  many 
who  work,  work  with  heavy  hearts,  and  do 
with  trembling  and  uncertain  spirit,  needing 
and  craving  more  than  work  to  save  them  from 
their  fears,  —  more  than  doing  to  make  them 
brave.  Work  cannot  do  everything  for  us,  for 
the  reason  that  our  work  is  so  imperfect,  and 


THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD.  Ill 

that  it  does  not  meet  all  of  our  needs.  Doinsr 
—  the  stretching  out  of  our  hands  to  take  hold 
of  God  —  is  not  enough  for  us,  for  the  reason 
there  are  so  many  things  in  our  life,  behind  us 
and  before  us,  which  we  cannot  touch  with  our 
hands,  nor  see  with  our  eyes.  What  we  do 
need,  beyond  our  doing,  beyond  our  taking 
hold  of  God,  is  to  feel  that  God  has  taken 
hold  of  us,  and  underneath  are  the  Everlasting 
Arms.  Our  life  is  so  full  of  startHng  wideness, 
of  terrifying  indefiniteness,  of  large  incomplete- 
ness, the  only  one  thing  that  can  go  under  its 
depth,  and  that  can  encircle  its  breadth,  and 
that  can  hold  up  all  strongly  together,  is  the 
Embrace  of  God  ! 

The  Everlasting  Arms  !  What  conceptions 
of  God  in  relation  to  our  lives  are  here  oiven 
to  us  ?  To  speak  of  the  Arms  of  God  is  not 
to  run  any  risk  of  narroAving  or  materializing 
our  thought  of  God  by  the  littleness  of  human 
ideas.  It  is  a  principle  of  inspired  language, 
which  we  may  follow  through  the  whole  Bible, 
to  speak  of  the  attributes  of  God  by  illustra- 
tions drawn  from  human  life  and  hiunan 
things.  We  do  not  infer  at  all  from  this 
that  God  is  only  such  an  one  as  ourselves, 
but  we  use  these  human  illustrations  by  look- 
ing through  them  to   bring  God  near    to  our 


112  THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD. 

power  of  thought,  as  the  astronomer  uses  on 
earth  his  telescope  to  bring  the  stars  near  to 
his  power  o£  vision.  See  how  these  telescopes 
are  mounted  in  the  observatory  of  the  Word  : 
"  Lilve  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the 
Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  Him."  ^  How  near 
to  our  power  of  thought  that  brings  God's  com- 
passion. "  As  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth, 
so  will  I  comfort  you."  ^  What  a  strong  lens 
that  is !  So,  also,  parts  and  features  of  the 
body  are  freely  used  to  interpret,  according  to 
the  power  of  our  minds,  the  transcendent  attri- 
butes of  God.  So,  the  Eyes  of  God,^  the  Mouth 
of  God,^  the  Voice  of  God,^  the  Breath  of  God,^ 
the  Hand  of  God,'  the  Feet  of  God,^  are  all  of 
them  inspired  illustrations  of  Divine  attributes, 
which  for  the  spiritual  mind  have  no  tendency 
to  materialize  the  thought  of  God,  but  to  bring 
the  glorious  realities  of  His  Being  within  the 
immediate  range  of  our  powers  of  feehng  and 
of  faith.  And  thus  we  are  told  to-day,  "in 
the  blessing  wherewith  Moses  the  man  of  God 
blessed  the  children  of  Israel  before  his  death," 
of  the  Everlasting  Arms.     Were  there  time  for 

1  Ps.  ciii.  13.  -  Isa.  Ixvi.  13. 

3  Ps.  xxxiii.  18.  *  St.  Matt.  iv.  4. 

5  Ps.  xxix.  3,  4,  5,  7,  8,  9.  ^  Job.  xxxiii.  4. 

7  Isa.  xxvi.  11.  s  Eph.  i.  22. 


THE  EMBRACE  OF  GOD.  113 

such  a  study,  it  would  be  a  precious  thing  to 
take  this  oft-repeated  thought  of  the  Arm  or 
the  Arms  of  God,  and  trace  out  its  meaning 
through  the  many  Scriptures  wherein  it  appears. 
We  should  find  out  how  the  writers  of  Israel 
loved  to  use  that  strong  word,  **  the  stretched- 
out  Arm/'  ^  as  a  sign  of  God's  active  help  ex- 
tended to  His  own  people.  We  should  find  Hez- 
ekiah  strengthening  his  people's  heart  against 
the  invading  Assyrian  with  this  grand  cry : 
"  With  him  is  an  arm  of  flesh,  but  with  us  is 
the  Lord  our  God  to  help  us  and  to  fight  our 
battles."  ^  We  should  find  the  mystic  whirl- 
wind voice  saying  reprovingly  to  Job,  "  Hast 
thou  an  arm  like  God  ?  "  ^  and  the  Psalmist 
singing  joyfully  :  "  Thou  hast  with  thine  Arm 
redeemed  Thy  people,"  *  "  Thou  hast  scattered 
Thine  enemies  with  Thy  Strong  Arm."  ^  ''  His 
Right  Hand  and  His  Holy  Arm  hath  gotten 
Him  the  victory,"  ^  and  in  the  Song  of  Solo- 
mon this  wonderful  prayer  :  "  Set  me  as  a  seal 
upon  Thine  Arm,  for  love  is  strong  as  death."  ^ 
And  Isaiah  is  full  of  this  thought.  Now  he 
prays :  "  Be  Thou  their  Arm  every  morning ; 

1  Ex.  vi.  6  ;  Deut.  iv.  34  ;  2  Chron.  vi.  32  ;  Ezek.  xx.  33. 

2  2  Chroii.  xxxii.  8.  3  job.  xl.  9. 

*  Ps.  Ixxvii.  15.  ^  Ps.  Ixxxix.  10. 

®  Ps.  xcviii.  1.  '  Cant.  viii.  6. 


114  THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD. 

our  salvation  also  in  the  time  of  trouble."  ^ 
Now  lie  asks  sadly  :  "  To  whom  is  the  Arm  of 
the  Lord  revealed?"^  Now  he  speaks  in  the 
words  of  Jehovah  :  "  Mine  Arms  shall  judge  the 
people^  and  on  mm e  Arm  shall  they  trust."  ^ 
And  now  he  utters  that  most  tender  Messianic 
prophecy  :  "  He  shall  gather  the  lambs  with  His 
Arm  and  carry  them  in  His  Bosom."  *  And 
when  we  turn  from  these  few  examples  to  the 
noble  assurance  given  by  Moses,  "  The  Eternal 
God  is  thy  Refuge,  and  underneath  are  the 
Everlasting  Arms,"  we  feel  that  the  thought  of 
the  Arms  of  God  is  very  full  of  meaning,  that 
it  gives  us  a  most  soul-restoring  idea  of  the 
enfoldinof  of  our  life  in  the  Embrace  of  the 
Divine  Life  ;  of  the  strength  of  God's  Embrace  ; 
of  the  protection  of  God's  Embrace  ;  of  the 
permanence  of  God's  Embrace. 

The  first  thing  that  appeals  to  us  is  the 
strengi:h  of  those  Everlastino^  Arms  :  "  Trust 
ye  in  the  Lord  forever,  for  in  the  Lord  Jeho- 
vah is  everlasting  strength."  ^  Many  of  us 
are  so  constituted  that  we  depend  upon  the 
strength  of  some  other  life  for  our  strength. 
We  feel  our  need,  in  the  earthly  companion- 

1  Isa.  xxxiii.  2.  -  Isa.  liii.  1. 

3  Isa.  li.  5.  *  Isa.  xl.  11. 

^  Isa.  xxvi.  4. 


THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD.  115 

ship,  of  a  strong  arm  to  lean  upon.  We  search 
the  countenance  of  anotlier  to  see  if  it  is  calm 
or  anxious  ;  we  probe  the  thought  of  another 
to  find  if  it  is  still  brave,  and  so  long  as  we 
find  strength  there  we  can  be  strong.  Strength 
is  mysteriously  communicable.  Some  have 
power  by  a  word,  by  a  look,  by  a  touch  of 
the  hand,  to  say  to  another,  "  Receive  thou 
strength."  All  such,  whether  giving  or  re- 
ceiving strength  in  present  earthly  companion- 
ship, can  feel  the  strength  of  these  Everlasting 
Arms.  And  who  can  more  truly  feel  it  than 
those  from  whom  the  strong  earthly  arm  has 
been  or  is  soon  to  be  withdrawn  ?  The  in- 
tenser  sense  of  dependence  prepares  one  to 
appreciate  the  strength  of  these  Everlasting 
Arms. 

The  next  thing  that  appeals  to  us  is  the 
protection  afforded  by  these  Everlasting  Arms, 
to  all  who  are  in  their  Embrace.  "  Hold  Thou 
me  up,  and  I  shall  be  safe."  ^  Life  is  danger- 
ous, life  is  untried,  life  is  menaced  by  evil. 
"  Hold  Thou  me  up,  and  I  shall  be  safe."  It 
is  a  glorious  thought,  that  perfect  safety  within 
the  Embrace  of  God.  "  Thou  hast  scattered 
Thine  enemies  with  Thy  strong  Arm ;  Thou 
hast  with  Thine  Arm  redeemed  Thy  people."  ^ 

1  Ps.  cxix.  117.  2  Ps.  Ixxxix.  10  ;  Ixxvii.  15. 


116  THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD. 

Have  not  moments  come  to  you  when  the 
sense  o£  defencelessness  has  overwhehned  you? 
On  the  verge  of  new  undertakmg's,  whose  re- 
sults are  deeply  hidden  from  you ;  or  entrusted 
with  responsibilities  where  mistake  may  mean 
ruin  ;  or  bereft  of  counsellors  on  whose  guid- 
ance you  have  been  wont  to  depend  ;  or 
plunged  in  peril  where  human  aid  is  unavail- 
ing, —  how  shattering  is  the  thought  of  your 
defencelessness  !  Yet  in  such  a  moment,  to  one 
who  believes,  there  may  be  born  within  the  soul 
a  consciousness,  before  unknown,  of  the  protec- 
tion of  those  Everlasting  Arms,  — 

"  And  hearts  are  brave  again, 
And  arms  are  strong." 

The  next  thing  that  appeals  to  us  is  the  per- 
manence, both  for  strength  and  for  protection, 
of  those  Everlasting  Arms.  "  I  will  never  leave 
thee  nor  forsake  thee."  ^  How  those  words 
shine  on  ahead  of  us  as  we  •go,  —  a  "  search- 
light," cutting  through  the  fog,  not  reveahng 
the  path  in  the  sea,  but  making  the  air  light ! 
The  everlastingness  of  those  strong  protecting 
Arms  is  the  answer  to  the  prayer,  "  0  Thou 
Who  changes t  not,  abide  with  me." 

One   thought   beyond   this  :    "  Underneath 

1  Heb.  xiii.  5. 


THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD.  117 

are  the  Everlasting  Arms."  I  rejoice  in  that 
"  underneath."  It  has  finahty  in  it.  It  has  ul- 
timateness  in  it.  It  touches  bottom,  —  deeper 
than  the  depths.  Arthur  Hallam  said  :  "  Pain 
is  the  deepest  thing  we  have  in  our  nature."  ^ 
And  it  is  true.  Pain  is  the  deepest  thing  we 
have  in  our  nature  ;  but  there  is  something 
deeper  than  pain,  for  there  is  something  deeper 
than  our  nature :  "  Underneath  are  the  Ever- 
lasting Arms."  And,  as  we  close  this  sermon, 
I  want  to  show  you  how  this  underneath 
thought  helps  our  faith,  how  it  helps  our 
work,  how  it  helps  our  courage. 

How  does  it  help  our  faith?  Underneath 
our  faith  are  the  Everlasting^  Arms  of  God's 
covenant  love  in  Christ.  What  must  I  do  to 
be  saved?  Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
and  thou  shalt  be  saved.  Now  what  is  the 
strong  thing  here,  —  my  faith  or  God's  cove- 
nant, "Thou  shalt  be  saved"?  Ah!  the 
strength  is  in  the  Everlasting  Arms  of  that 
covenant  of  Eternal  Love  which  are  under  me 
in  the  work  of  Christ.  My  faith  is  a  most 
weak,  unsteady  force.  There  are  times  when  it 
grows  stronger  and  brighter  under  the  power 
of  favorable  influences,  when  I  see  clearly  my 
part  in  the  sacrifice  of  the  Eedeemer,  and  lay 

^  Remains  in  Verse  and  Prose  of  Arthur  Henry  Hallam,  p.  281. 


118  THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD. 

hold  of  His  Cross  with  strong  hands.  But 
there  are  other  times  when  the  power  of  faith 
languishes,  when  the  faults  and  follies  of  my 
weaker  nature  hinder  its  free  exercise,  and 
when  discouragement  dims  its  clearness.  Does 
my  salvation  depend  on  my  faith  keeping  up 
to  a  certain  pitch  of  intensity?  If  so,  where 
am  I  before  God  to-day,  and  where  is  my 
hope  ?  Is  the  strength  of  my  faith  my  ref- 
uge ?  It  is  not  so.  "  The  Eternal  God  is  thy 
Kefuge,  and  underneath  are  the  Everlasting 
Arms."  The  great  thing  is,  not  the  strength 
with  which  you  have  taken  hold  of  God,  but 
the  strength  with  which  God  has  taken  hold  of 
you,  to  hold  you  eternally  in  the  Everlasting 
Arms  of  His  covenant  love  revealed  in  Christ. 
The  most  trembling,  weeping,  uncertain,  trou- 
bled faith,  if  only  it  be  real  as  far  as  it  goes, 
is  just  as  truly  the  gateway  of  salvation,  to  the 
soul  that  has  it,  as  is  the  triumphant,  cloudless, 
untroubled  faith  of  the  greatest  apostle,  for 
the  measure  of  faith  in  neither  case  is  the 
ground  of  salvation.  The  ground  of  salvation 
for  both  alike,  the  ultimate  fact,  is  that  under- 
neath the  faith,  be  it  weaker  or  stronger,  are 
the  Everlastin^r  Arms  of  the  Covenant  of  the 
Cross.  If  this  were  realized  more  clearly  than 
it  is,  what  a  magnificent  help  it  would  be  to 


THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD.  119 

the  faith  of  all  of  us  !  We  should  cease  feel- 
ing the  pulse  of  our  spiritual  emotions,  and 
should  rest  in  the  covenant  of  Calvary ;  and  no 
man  can  feel  that  the  everlasting,  outstretched 
Arms  of  the  dying  Saviour  are  the  support 
beneath  his  life  without  being  quickened  into 
a  strong  faith,  and  moved  by  a  desire  for  holi- 
ness. 

Underneath  are  the  Everlasting  Arms !  How 
does  this  help  our  work  ?  Underneath  our 
imperfect  work  are  the  Everlasting  Arms  of 
Christ's  perfect  work.  Christ's  work  sanctifies 
and  makes  acceptable  in  God's  sight  all  work 
wrought,  however  imperfectly,  in  His  Name. 
Christ's  work  gathers  and  holds  our  imperfect 
efforts  in  the  embrace  of  a  Divine  acceptance. 
"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the 
least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it 
unto  Me."  ^  "  Unto  Me  "  —  those  two  words 
are  the  Everlastino-  Arms  that  o;ather  and  bind 
our  life  work,  and  bear  it  up  acceptably  before 
the  Throne.  Unto  Me !  Take  away  those 
words  and  our  life  becomes  an  unbound  sheaf ; 
it  falls  apart  into  scattered,  frail,  faulty,  often 
futile  efforts.  Judged  in  themselves  alone  by 
the  awful  standard  of  God's  Perfection,  our 
miserable  attempts  at  service  fill  us  with  shame. 
1  St.  Matt.  XXV.  40. 


120  THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD. 

But  is  this  our  destiny,  to  go  wearily  ou,  our 
life  marked  behind  us  by  the  broken  efforts 
that  have  fallen  to  the  ground?  Christian 
brother,  this  is  not  our  destiny.  No  sincere 
work,  however  faulty,  falls  to  the  ground,  for 
underneath  are  the  Everlasting  Arms,  —  those 
gracious,  compassionate,  gathering,  and  bind- 
ing Arms  —  "  Unto  Me  "  —  wherewith  Christ 
gathers  our  work,  enfolds  it  in  His  Own,  pre- 
sents it  with  His  Own.  Who  that  believes  this 
but  must  often  work  with  a  less  uncertain 
spirit,  knowing  that  his  labor  in  the  Lord  is 
not  in  vain  ;  not  that  we  have  taken  hold  of 
God  by  our  work,  but  that  God  has  taken  hold 
of  our  work  with  the  Everlasting  Arms  ? 

Underneath  are  the  Everlasting  Arms  !  How 
does  this  help  our  courage  ?  Underneath  our 
failing  heart  are  the  Everlasting  Arms  of  the 
Reserve  Power  in  God.  Can  any  one  be  truly 
strong  who  has  not  been  perfectly  weak?  I 
mean,  can  any  one  say  with  truth  that  he 
knows  something  of  the  Reserve  Power  of 
those  Everlasting  Arms  until,  under  the  pres- 
sure of  temptation,  or  of  care,  or  of  sorrow,  he 
has  felt  the  life  giving  way  beneath  him,  — 
the  flesh  and  the  heart  failing?  But  if  you 
have  come  to  that  point  where  you  felt  life 
giving  way  under  you,  and  if  at  that  point  you, 


THE  EMBRACE   OF  GOD.  121 

with  a  perfect  consciousness  of  your  entire 
weakness,  did  throw  the  whole  weight  of  your 
heavy  heart  upon  God,  then  you  may  have 
known  something  of  the  Reserve  Power  of 
those  Everlasting  Arms  that  caught  you  and 
held  you,  and  made  you  stronger  than  the 
strong.  Courage?  It  is  a  pretty  thing  to 
look  at  when  the  bright,  unburdened  soul 
speaks  out  of  the  fearless  eyes  which  never 
yet  were  dimmed  by  life's  real  sorrows ;  it  is 
a  sweet,  and  spring-like  thing  to  see  the  impas- 
sioned courage  of  the  boyhood  that  has  had  no 
reason  yet  to  doubt  itself.  But  it  is  a  diviner 
thino^  to  see  the  New  Transfis^urino-  Couras^e 
that  is  found  in  that  hour  when  the  soul, 
in  utter  weakness,  flings  itself  on  the  Reserve 
Power  of  those  Everlastino^  Arms,  and  otows 
strono'er  than  the  stronof.  These  are  the 
strength-g'ivers  ;  these  are  they  who  have  grace 
to  make  others  brave,  who  themselves  out  of 
weakness  were  made  strong  in  the  Embrace  of 
God.     Amen. 


VIIL 
THE  PERSPECTIVE  OF  RIGHT  LIVING. 


VIII. 

THE    PEES'PECTIVE  OF  RIGHT    LIVING. 

"  And  he  looked  up,  and  said  :  I  see  men  as  trees,  walking." 
—St.  Mark  viii.  23. 

Here  was  a  case  for  an  oculist.  When  Clies- 
elden,  the  great  English  eye-surgeon,  first  gave 
sight  to  a  young  man  born  blind,  by  an  opera- 
tion celebrated  alike  in  the  annals  of  surgery 
and  psychology,  the  patient  is  said  to  have 
declared  that  all  objects,  near  and  distant, 
seemed  to  touch  his  eyes.  He  had  no  sense 
of  distance,  no  perception  of  relations,  no  idea 
of  perspective,  no  conception  of  an  horizon.^ 
This,  substantially,  was  the  case  of  the  man 
brought  to  Christ  at  Bethsaida,  for  the  healing 
of  blindness.  Anticipating,  I  doubt  not,  the 
confusion  which  would  attend  the  first  effort 
of  vision,  the  Saviour,  before  operating  upon 
the  man,  takes  him  by  the  hand  and  leads  him 
out;  of  the  town  into  the  quieter  country-side, 
where,  possibly,  the  only  spectators  of  the  cure 

1  Vide  Weekly  London  Times,  June  13,  1890,  p.  12. 


126    THE  PERSPECTIVE   OF  RIGHT  LIVING. 

would  be  the  disciples.  Then,  by  a  touch,  He 
breaks  the  spell  of  blindness,  and  summons 
this  child  of  involuntary  darkness  to  make  his 
first  report  of  light.  Christ  laid  His  hands 
upon  him  and  asked  him  :  "  Seest  thou  aught  ?  " 
The  man  looked  up,  endeavored  in  the  first  be- 
wildered exercise  of  a  new  sense  to  grasp  the 
situation,  and  replied  :  "\  see  men  as  trees, 
walking."  His  reply  reminds  us  of  Chesel- 
den's  patient.  He  saw  ;  but  he  saw  not  things 
in  right  relations  ;  the  near  and  the  distant, 
the  great  and  the  small  were  all  alike  to  him. 
Everything  seemed  to  touch  his  eyes.  He  had 
not  as  yet  acquired  that  sense  of  distance,  that 
sense  of  perspective  which  is  in  fact  the  result 
of  experience,  although  we  may  think  of  it  as 
innate.  I  am  seated  upon  my  piazza  on  a  sum- 
mer day.  Before  me  is  a  table.  On  the  table 
is  a  book.  On  the  same  plane  as  the  table  my 
eye  beholds  the  bright  blue  sea.  On  the  sea 
is  a  great  sloop-yacht  with  her  clouds  of  snowy 
canvas.  I  stretch  out  my  hand  to  touch  the 
book.  Why  do  I  not  stretch  out  my  hand  to 
touch  the  yacht,  which  is  just  beyond  the  book 
in  the  plane  of  vision  ?  Because  experience 
has  taught  my  eyes  the  sense  of  perspective,  of 
nearness  and  of  distance,  of  relative  sizes  and 
positions ;  and  I  know  the  book  is  small  and 


THE  PERSPECTIVE   OF  RIGHT  llVING.    127 

is  near ;  and  although  the  yacht  appears  just 
beyond  the  book  and  of  the  same  size  as  the 
book,  the  acquired  sense  of  perspective  assures 
me  the  yacht  is  large  and  is  far  away. 

This  man,  who  at  the  bidding  of  that  Divine 
Oculist,  Jesus  Christ,  made  his  first  effort  of 
vision,  revealed  instantly  that  the  sense  of  per- 
spective is  not  innate,  but  is  acquired.  He 
declared,  "  I  see  men  as  trees,  walking."  By 
this  he  meant  that  he  detected  objects,  but  not 
their  relations.  Men  looked  like  trees,  trees 
like  men.  The  Lord  at  his  side  and  the  syca- 
more in  the  meadow  were  simply  two  discerni- 
ble objects,  equally  near,  of  equal  size.  I  sup- 
pose this  is  the  way  the  world  looks  to  a  baby 
when  first  it  opens  its  eyes.  The  form  of  its 
father  is  as  tall  as  the  elm-tree,  and  the  canopy 
of  its  crib  is  as  high  as  the  sky  ;  the  night- 
light  is  as  bright  as  the  sun,  and  the  mother's 
hymn  is  as  loud  as  the  noise  of  trumpets.  Day 
by  day,  month  by  month,  it  acquires  the  sense 
of  relativeness,  in  sights,  in  sounds  ;  the  per- 
spective of  the  eye,  the  perspective  of  the  ear. 
If  our  Lord  had  done  nothing  further  for  the 
man  beyond  enabling  him  to  make  this  first 
effort  of  vision  wherein  he  saw  men  as  trees 
walking,  the  man,  proceeding  along  the  ordi- 
nary path  of  human   experience,    could   pain- 


128    THE  PERSPECTIVE   OF  RIGHT  LIVIXG. 

fully  and  perilously  have  succeeded  ultimately 
in  learning  the  relations  of  objects  to  one  an- 
other ;  he  could  have  acquired  his  perspective. 
Like  a  baby  learning  the  uses  of  eyes,  grad- 
ually he  would  have  found  out  that  trees  are 
taller  than  men ;  that  a  rod  is  shorter  than  a 
mile  ;  that  the  sky  is  higher  than  a  roof.  But 
we  are  all  glad  to  learn  that  Jesus  by  His  own 
personal  power  Idndly  enabled  this  man  to  an- 
ticipate the  slow  results  of  experience;  gave 
him  not  only  vision,  but  the  sense  of  perspec- 
tive ;  for  we  read  :  "  Then  again  He  laid  His 
hands  upon  his  eyes  ;  and  he  looked  steadfastly 
and  was  restored,  and  saw  all  things  clearly."  ^ 
It  would  be  difficult,  I  think,  to  give  even  a 
few  moments  of  thought  to  this  incident,  with- 
out percei^dng  that  in  it  we  have  a  suggestion 
concerning  life  of  even  more  than  ordinary 
230wer.  It  seems  hardly  possible  to  think  of 
the  dim,  bewildered  way  in  which  the  man  be- 
gan to  use  his  eyes,  of  the  confusion  of  men  and 
trees,  of  the  lack  of  altitude,  the  lack  of  spa- 
cing, the  lack  of  scale,  and  not  to  think  how  we, 
when  we  began  to  look  on  life,  may  have  seen 
it  in  the  same  dim,  bewildered  way,  without 
altitude,  without  spacing,  without  scale,  with- 
out perspective.     It  seems   hardly  possible  to 

^  Revised  Version. 


THE   PERSPECTIVE    OF  RIGHT  LIVING.    129 

think  of  Jesus  giving  this  man  his  perspective ; 
setting  things  right  before  his  eyes  ;  putting 
objects  in  relation,  and  saving  him  a  thousand 
mortifications,  miscalculations,  blows  and  falls, 
—  and  not  to  think  that  Jesus  has  power  to 
give  us  the  perspective  of  right  living,  —  to  set 
things  right  before  our  eyes ;  to  set  the  great 
sun-crowned  mountains  of  hope  and  the  sky- 
spaces  of  glory  above  the  roadside  bushes  and 
above  the  dusty  figures  of  men. 

The  perspective  of  right  living !  It  is  of 
this  I  would  speak  to-day,  if  God  shall  give 
me  utterance.  First,  of  the  tendency  to  false 
perspective.  Second,  of  the  evils  of  false  per- 
spective. Third,  of  the  Touch  that  makes  all 
things  clear. 

"  I  see  men  as  trees,  walking."  The  ten- 
dency to  false  perspective  is  revealed  in  the  first 
effort  of  vision.  In  his  first  report  of  light, 
the  man  ingenuously  reports  that  he  has  every- 
thing to  learn.  Such  seeing  is  hardly  an  ad- 
vance on  blindness.  Such  lio;ht  is  darkness. 
To  detect  objects  without  sense  of  relative  size 
and  place  is  to  multiply,  not  to  abate,  the  perils 
of  existence.  The  blind  man  tapping  warily 
along  the  pavement  is  safer  than  he  who  sees 
the  vehicles,  but  knows  not  if  they  be  far  or 
near.     Vision  without  true  perspective  is  open- 


130    THE  PERSPECTIVE   OF  RIGHT  LIVING. 

eyed  blindness.  Yet  we  tend  to  this  wken  we 
begin  to  look  upon  life.  Each  in  his  own  way, 
and  after  his  own  kind,  tends  to  false  perspec- 
tive, and  sees  men  as  trees  Avalking. 

"  I  see  men  as  trees,  walking."  To  begin  by 
citing  an  obvious  example.  Some  tend  to  false 
perspective  in  the  care  of  health.  "  I  believe 
in  the  sanity  of  the  body  "  is  not  a  clause  from 
the  Apostles'  Creed,  but  is  worthy  to  be  there. 
A  man  has  his  life-work :  a  woman  has  hers. 
The  glory  of  the  calling  and  the  strength  of 
the  called  were  meant  to  correspond.  "  As 
thy  days  so  shall  thy  strength  be,"  ^  means  (as 
much  as  anything)  health  for  a  life-work.  Yet 
nothing  is  more  likely,  than  health,  to  stand  in 
false  perspective  at  the  beginning  of  life.  It 
is  offered  up  ruthlessly  as  fuel  to  feed  the  fires 
of  indulgence.  It  is  diminished  by  the  play- 
ful bravado  of  imprudence ;  by  deficient  sani- 
tation of  the  body  ;  by  late  and  irregular  hours  ; 
by  foolish  and  indefensible  habits.  Fashion 
levies  a  pitiless  and  utterly  exorbitant  tax  upon 
the  vitality  of  the  young,  and  self-indulgence 
cooperates  with  her  to  set  the  whole  subject  of 
health  in  false  perspective.  There  are  times 
when  my  sense  of  this  false  perspective  prevail- 
ing among  the  young  on  the  subject  of  health 

1  Deut.  xxxiii.  25. 


THE  PERSPECTIVE   OF  RIGHT  LIVING.     131 

becomes  so  intense,  it  seems  as  if  it  would  draof 
me  from  my  pulpit  and  send  me  forth  as  an 
evangelist  to  schools  and  colleges,  to  preach  a 
larger  doctrine  of  life  to  boys  and  girls,  to 
preach  the  glory  and  the  strain  of  a  man's  hfe- 
work,  and  of  a  woman's  life-work ;  to  preach 
that  fatherhood  need  not  be  a  crushing  care, 
nor  motherhood  a  shattering  torture  ;  to  plead 
for  youth,  as  Elislia  prayed  for  the  young  man 
in  the  vale  of  Dothan :  "  Open  his  eyes,  that 
he  may  see ; "  ^  to  sweep  away  the  clouds  of 
tobacco  smoke  from  the  brains  of  boys,  to  stop 
incij^ient  drinking ;  to  make  girls  content  ^dth 
simpler  living ;  to  set  health  in  true  perspec- 
tive before  it  has  been  sold  for  pleasure. 

"  I  see  men  as  trees,  walking."  So  some 
tend  to  false  perspective  in  mental  culture.  It 
is  the  fashion  of  this  ao;e  to  read  books.  But 
mental  culture  is  no  more  measured  by  the 
number  of  books  one  reads,  than  health  is 
measured  by  the  number  of  pounds  one  weighs. 
Mental  culture  is  the  process  of  thought-life. 
Thought  gives  perspective  to  knowledge.  To 
devour  books  presupposes  no  certain  thought- 
life.  In  the  mass  of  rapidly  acquired  informa- 
tion there  may  be  no  altitude,  no  spacing,  no 
scale.     The  near  and  the  distant,  the  great  and 

1  2  Kings  vi.  17. 


132     THE  PERSPECTIVE   OF  RIGHT  LIVING. 

the  petty,  may  look  alike  —  men  as  trees  walk- 
ing. Thought,  and  only  thought,  gives  per- 
spective to  knowledge :  places  the  data  of  infor- 
mation in  right  relations,  informs  the  mind 
with  the  sense  of  greatness,  invests  mental 
judgments  with  dignity,  and  pervades  charac- 
ter with  calm  and  beauteous  self-confidence. 
In  the  crowded  life  which  many  of  us  are  com- 
pelled to  live,  the  great  foe  of  thought  is  inci- 
dent, perpetual,  ubiquitous  incident ;  something 
to  happen  every  hour.  Incident  is  in  the  tower- 
ing majority.  Its  tendency  is  to  throAV  thought 
into  false  perspective,  to  minimize  meditation, 
thus  to  pauperize  the  mind.  Is  there  anything 
in  the  universe  of  God  more  beautiful,  more 
desirable,  than  a  thoughtful  mind,  in  which, 
as  on  the  face  of  some  magnificent  landscape, 
the  lines  of  pure  perspective  are  drawn  by  the 
Hand  of  God ;  where  the  elements  of  knowledge 
stand  in  right  relations  ;  where  the  foreground 
detail  neither  hides  nor  belittles  the  sky-line 
and  the  peaks  that  pierce  the  blue. 

"  I  see  men  as  trees,  walking.''  So  some 
tend  to  false  perspective  in  the  moral  life.  To 
do  evil  that  good  may  come  is  the  logic  of  the 
devil.  In  deliberative  assemblies,  occasions 
sometimes  arise  calling  for  unusual  methods  of 
procedure  ;  and  where  the  occasion  is  supposed 


THE  PERSPECTIVE    OF  RIGHT  LIVING.    133 

to  justify,  the  unusual  procedure  is  allowed, 
under  what  is  called  "  a  suspension  of  the 
rules."  In  the  life  of  men,  how  often  is  the 
moral  law  violated  under  (what  a  man  per- 
suades himself  to  believe)  is  a  justifiable  sus- 
pension of  the  rules.  The  opportunities  of 
gain  are  very  unusual  at  the  moment,  or  the 
stringency  of  a  man's  finances  is  exceptionally 
severe,  or  the  banter  and  ridicule  of  companions 
is  peculiarly  trying,  or  the  seducing  witchery 
of  temptation  is  supremely  potent ;  the  man 
halts,  hesitates,  calls  it  a  justifiable  emergency, 
and  suspends  the  rules.  God  help  him  !  What 
he  does  he  knows  not  now,  but  he  shall  know 
hereafter.  At  the  moment,  in  the  false  per- 
spective, he  sees  men  as  trees,  walking ;  all 
things  look  about  alike,  —  God  like  the  devil, 
wrong  like  right.  But  afterward,  oh,  after- 
ward !  when  the  light  has  come,  not  like  the 
broad,  benignant  sunrise,  but  like  the  sheeted 
lightning  bursting  in  upon  the  night,  in  the 
glare  of  infamous  exposure,  in  the  blaze  of 
shame,  —  afterward  he  shall  know  that  the 
wages  of  sin  is  death. 

"  I  see  men  as  trees,  walking."  So  some  tend 
to  false  perspective  in  the  spiritual  life.  Once, 
in  the  borders  of  Judaea,  beyond  Jordan,  there 
came  to  Christ  a  young  man  of  wealth,  who 


134     THE   PERSPECTIVE    OF  RIGHT  LIVING. 

professed  to  desii-e  the  spiritual  life.^  He  asked 
that  its  principles  might  be  explained  to  him. 
Christ  pointed  out  to  him  that  the  central 
principle  of  spiritual  life  is  the  willingness  to 
renounce  self  and  self-chosen  good,  for  the 
sake  of  Jesus.  To  the  young  man's  eyes,  full 
of  false  perspective,  such  a  principle  dealt  a 
death-blow  at  the  spii^itual  life.  How  could 
renunciation  ever  be  more  to  a  man  than  pos- 
session? How  could  giving  up  for  Jesus'  sake 
ever  be  chosen  and  loved  better  than  having 
for  one's  own  sake  ?  He  could  not  see  it.  And 
he  went  away  sorrowful,  for  he  had  gTcat  pos- 
sessions. Many  more  since  his  day  have  failed 
to  see  it.  That  Hfe  in  the  fellowship  of  the 
Son  of  God,  where  sacrifice  becomes  a  joy,  and 
self-renunciation  for  His  sake  the  most  glad- 
dening form  of  self-expression ;  that  spiritual 
life  where  the  majesty  and  glory  of  things  un- 
seen is  far  more  satisfying  than  physical  abun- 
dance, that  life  is  an  enigma  to  many  this  day. 
They  cannot  see  the  charm  of  it.  They  can- 
not imaofine  wherein  it  becomes  a  successful 
rival  with  the  world,  for  the  afPections  and  the 
enthusiasms  of  a  human  heart.  They  cannot 
conceive  how  one  still  hour  with  Jesus  may  be 
more  enthrallino-  with  delioht  than  the  most 
1  St.  Matt.  xix.  16-26. 


THE  PERSPECTIVE    OF  RIGHT  LIVING.     135 

sumptuous  pageant  of  the  world.  They  cannot 
see  it.  No  I  nor  will  they,  till  that  Touch 
which  makes  all  things  clear  is  laid  on  tlieu' 
eyes  as  it  has  been  laid  on  some  of  us.  Till 
then  life  will  be  viewed  in  false  perspective ; 
the  things  that  are  seen  and  temporal  will  look 
larger  and  grander  and  more  captivating  than 
the  things  that  are  not  seen  and  are  eternal; 
the  trees  and  the  men  massed  in  the  fore- 
ground will  block  the  sky-line.  Only  the  Touch 
of  Jesus  Christ  can  set  it  rio^ht. 

Here,  then,  we  have  before  us  some  examples 
of  tendency  to  false  perspective.  In  matters 
of  health,  of  mental  culture,  of  moral  life  and 
of  spiritual  life,  we  see  the  possibility  of  mis- 
taken view ;  of  that  open-eyed  blindness  which 
perceives  things  without  being  able  to  perceive 
their  relations.  Is  it  necessary  for  me  to  say 
more  than  a  few  words  concerninof-  the  evils 
of  false  perspective  ?  We  all  know  how  many 
forms  of  physical  sufPering  are  traced  by  the 
skill  of  modern  physicians  to  some  defect  in 
the  eyes  ;  till  we  grow  almost  to  feel  that  if  the 
eyes  are  right,  all  is  right.  It  seems  as  if  mod- 
ern oculists,  by  their  marvellous  demonstrations 
of  the  influence  of  vision  upon  other  bodily 
functions,  are  throwing  ncAv  significance  into 
Christ's  words :    "If  thine  eye  be  single,  thy 


136    THE  PERSPECTIVE    OF  RIGHT  LIVING. 

whole  body  shall  be  full  of  light ;  but  if  thine 
eye  be  evil,  thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of 
darkness."  ^  The  evils  of  false  perspective, 
the  sad  consequences  upon  all  the  personality, 
following  from  a  mistaken  view  of  the  relation 
of  things,  are  as  comprehensive  as  the  maladies 
which  relate  themselves  to  physical  disorders  of 
the  eye. 

The  misappropriation  of  energy  is  one  of 
the  evils  of  false  perspective ;  working  yourself 
to  death  for  a  second-rate  prize.  I  am  not 
speaking  of  man's  heritage  of  toil ;  in  the  sweat 
of  his  brow  he  must  earn  his  bread :  — 

"  Men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep, 
For  there  's  little  to  earn,  and  many  to  keep  ;  " 

I  am  speaking  of  the  work,  the  thinking,  the 
scheming,  the  strength,  that  are  thrown  away 
on  second-rate  prizes.  "  Wlierefore  do  ye  spend 
money  for  that  which  is  not  bread ;  and  your 
labor  for  that  which  satisfieth  not?"^  It  is 
the  curse  of  the  false  perspective,  and  the  world 
is  full  of  it ;  men  selling  body  and  soul  to  the 
devil  in  order  to  keep  up  a  false  show  of  wealth 
till  they  drop  into  that  premature  grave,  a 
convict's  cell ;  women  scheming  to  attain  that 
Avhich  when  they  have  it  is  not  worth  the  hav- 
ing ;  while  better  things,  purer  things,  things 

1  St.  Matt.  vi.  22,  23.  2  jsa.  Iv.  2. 


THE  PERSPECTIVE   OF  RIGHT  LIVING.    137 

great  with  immortality,  lie  mute  around  them 
unnoticed,  uncomprehended,  undesired. 

The  tyranny  of  non-essentials  is  one  of  the 
evils  of  false  perspective.  When  they  arrested 
Christ  in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane,  Peter,  in 
a  fury,  draws  his  sword,  strikes  into  the  crowd 
and  maims  Malchus,  cutting  off  his  ear.^  "  Put 
up  your  sword,"  says  the  calm  Clirist,  with  a 
touch  as  he  heals  the  wounded  ear  ;  "  To  smite 
Malchus  is  false  perspective.  I  have  no  quar- 
rel with  that  poor  man  ;  he  knows  not  what 
he  does.  I  have  a  greater  baptism  to  be  bap- 
tized with  ;  I  have  yet  a  cup  to  drink  which  is 
in  My  Father's  Hand  ;  I  must  get  Me  ready 
for  that."  Christ  Avas  too  great,  He  saw  too 
far,  to  live  under  the  tyranny  of  non-essentials. 
He  threw  them  off  gloriously,  as  a  ship  throws 
off  the  spray  on  either  bow.  He  accepted  His 
Own  real  trials :  He  faced  Gethsemane  ;  He 
bent  to  His  Cross.  He  went  to  Calvary  to 
drink  the  cup  of  woe ;  but  in  the  grand  per- 
spective of  living  He  knew  what  worries  He 
might  throw  aside,  and  with  whom  He  need 
have  no  words.  Not  till  His  Touch  is  on  our 
eyes  can  we  see  to  do  likewise.  Till  then,  the 
tyranny  of  non-essentials  breaks  the  spirit  of 
men  ;  petty  worries,  small  confusions,  secondary 

1  St.  Matt.  xxvi.  51,  52. 


138    THE  PERSPECTIVE    OF  RIGHT  LIVING. 

attacks,  assume  exaggerated  powers  ;  the  dust 
of  the  road  hides  the  hills  to  which  it  leads. 
The  sudden  quarrel  with  Malchus  unnerves  one 
for  patience  at  the  judgment  bar  of  a  bitterer 
trial,  for  majesty  and  peace  in  the  supreme 
hour  of  the  Cross.  Who  needs  not  to  pray 
this  prayer :  '^  Teach  me,  0  Master,  to  discern 
betwixt  small  and  gTeat  in  the  perspective  of 
trial,  and  let  not  a  wayside  brawl  break  up  a 
march  to  Calvary  !  " 

Let  me  speak,  as  I  close  this  sermon,  of  the 
Touch  that  makes  all  thinos  clear.  "  He  laid 
His  Hands  upon  him  and  asked  him,  '  Seest 
thou  aught?'  and  he  looked  up  and  said,  'I 
see  men  as  trees,  walking.'  Then  again  He 
laid  His  Hands  upon  bis  eyes  ;  and  he  looked 
steadfastly  and  was  restored,  and  saw  all  things 
clearly."  That  was  the  Touch  that  made  all 
things  clear.  Has  He  laid  it  on  our  eyes  ? 
Has  He  given  us  through  His  Holy  Spirit  our 
perspective?  How,  then,  do  we  look  at  life? 
Through  the  principles  of  true  perspective  ? 
There  are  three  things  you  mil  see  in  your  per- 
spective if  His  Hands  have  indeed  been  laid 
upon  vour  eyes,  in  the  Touch  that  makes  all 
thino's  clear.  You  will  see  the  difference  be- 
tween  apparent  size  and  real  size ;  you  will  see 
the  converging  lines ;  you  will  see  the  vanish- 
ing point. 


THE  PERSPECTIVE   OF  RIGHT  LIVING.    139 

You  will  see  the  difference  between  apparent 
size  and  real  size.  The  things  in  the  fore- 
ground are  not  the  greatest  of  all ;  the  trees 
and  the  men  have  apparent  size,  looming  up 
close  before  you ;  but  the  lines  that  run  back 
into  the  picture  suggest  to  you  now  larger  and 
larger  things ;  the  spaces  of  life,  the  scale  of 
the  mountains,  the  shore  of  the  sea. 

You  will  see  the  converging  lines.  As  the 
lines  move  on  in  the  picture,  they  draw  to- 
gether. Is  this,  then,  the  perspective  of  liv- 
ing, to  realize  that  the  lines  of  things  are  not 
parallel,  running  on  endlessly  side  by  side  ? 
They  are  converging  lines,  drawing  closer  and 
closer  together  as  they  move. 

You  will  see  the  vanishing  point.  It  is  not 
in  the  picture  to  be  seen,  but  your  mind  tells 
you  it  is  there ;  a  point  where  all  the  long  con- 
verging lines  meet  at  last  to  vanish  in  infinity. 
On  and  on,  then,  must  be  our  thought  of  living ; 
on  and  on,  beneath  the  Touch  that  makes  all 
things  clear.  We  cannot  be  stopped  in  the 
confusion  of  the  foreground  ;  on  and  on,  in 
thought,  in  prayer,  in  hope,  in  service,  till  the 
long  hues  meet  where  sea  and  sky  are  one  — 
and  vanish  in  eternity  !     Amen. 


IX. 


THE  BENEDICTION  OF  THE  RISEN 
LORD. 


IX. 

THE  BENEDICTION  OF  THE  EISEN  LORD. 

Preached  on  Easter  Day,  1889. 

"  Then  came  Jesus  and  stood  in  the  midst,  and  saith  unto 
them.  Peace  be  unto  you.  Then  said  Jesus  to  them  again, 
Peace  be  unto  you.  And  after  eight  days  again  came  Jesus, 
and  stood  in  the  midst  and  said.  Peace  be  unto  you."  —  St. 
John  xx.  19,  21,  26. 

We  are  to  speak  of  the  Benediction  o£  the 
Risen  Lord.  Sometimes  in  summer,  after  a 
three  days'  stomi,  there  dawns  a  morning  when 
the  air  is  clear  as  crystal,  soft  as  a  child's 
breath,  still  as  heaven.  The  pitiless  east  wind 
that  tore  the  trees,  that  screamed  like  the  night- 
hawk,  that  lashed  the  sea  into  tawny  foam ; 
the  sheets  of  rain  that  travelled  on  the  roaring 
blast,  that  swelled  the  streams,  that  beat  at  the 
windows ;  the  low-hanging  clouds,  over  whose 
leaden  fronts  have  swept  the  interminable 
fringes  of  flying  scud,  —  all  these  have  vanished 
at  midnight,  and  with  the  dawn  have  come 
beauty,  and  calmness,  and  untroubled  glory. 
The   sea   is  still,  giving   back  the  blue  of    a 


144    BENEDICTION  OF  THE  RISEN  LORD. 

cloudless  sky  ;  the  air  sparkles  with  light  thrown 
out  from  the  rain-baptism  on  trees  and  lawns  ; 
and  overhead,  as  through  a  "  sapphire  sea,"  the 
sun  "  sails  like  a  golden  galleon."  This  mag- 
nificent contrast  in  nature  is  no  unworthy  type 
of  that  majestic  and  consoling  tranquillity  with 
which  the  Resurrection  morning  dawns  out  of 
the  awful  strife,  the  unimaginable  sorrow,  the 
enormous  gloom,  surrounding  the  Cross  and 
Grave  of  Jesus  Christ. 

Reflect  for  a  moment  upon  the  concentrated 
violence  of  pain,  confusion,  ignominy,  horror 
and  destruction  which  char  of  ed  the  hours  from 
Gethsemane  to  the  Entombment.  Remember 
the  Agony  and  Bloody  Sweat ;  remember  the 
hideous  betrayal  by  an  apostle  ;  remember  the 
ignominy  of  those  investigations  pursued  be- 
fore the  ecclesiastical  and  the  civil  tribunals. 
Remember  the  mockery  and  the  castigation ; 
remember  the  roar  of  that  cry  of  hatred, 
"  Crucify  Him  !  Crucify  Him  !  "  remember  the 
deathly  march  to  Calvary  ;  remember  the  shock 
and  tension  when  the  cross  was  uplifted  ;  re- 
member the  ferocious  confusion  that  raged 
about  Him  as  He  was  slowly  dying ;  remember 
the  darkness  and  the  earthquake  ;  remember 
the  Voice  that  issued  from,  that  ghastly  gloom, 
carrying  up  to  God  a  message  God  only  could 


BENEDICTION  OF  THE  RISEN  LORD.     145 

interpret :  "  My  God,  My  God,  why  hast  Thou 
forsaken  Me  ?  "  Then,  turnmg  from  that  "  hor- 
rible tempest "  of  strife  and  sorrow  and  gloom, 
look  upon  the  morning  of  beauty  and  calmness 
amidst  which  Jesus  enters  on  His  Resurrection 
Life.  From  the  moment  of  His  Resurrection, 
strife,  pain,  pressure,  agony,  confusion  have 
no  power  over  Him.  Silently  as  the  morning 
climbs  the  summer  sky,  He  moves  from  place 
to  place  ;  gentle  and  radiant  as  sunlight  is  His 
Presence,  Who  lately  was  bowed  by  the  tra- 
vail of  His  Soul ;  and  when  He  speaks,  His  first 
words  to  the  believing  circle  strike  the  keynote 
of  all  He  would  do  for  us,  and  be  in  us,  and 
bring  to  us  evermore ;  the  Benediction  of  the 
Risen  Lord  :  "  Peace  be  unto  you." 

Three  times  within  the  octave  of  Easter  Day 
did  He  pronounce  that  Benediction,  as  though 
He  would  make  clear  at  the  very  outset,  to  the 
believing  Church,  that  the  Risen  Lord  longs 
to  bring  and  to  keep  peace  in  these  hearts 
of  ours,  however  fierce  the  strife,  however 
long  the  warfare,  through  which  we  must  go. 
"  The  first  day  of  the  week  came  Jesus,  and 
stood  in  the  midst  and  saith  unto  them.  Peace 
be  unto  you.  Then  said  Jesus  to  them  again. 
Peace  be  unto  you  ;  and  after  eight  days  again 
came  Jesus,  and  stood  in  the  midst  and  said 
unto  them,  Peace  be  unto  you." 


146     BENEDICTION   OF  THE  RISEN  LORD. 

Each  time  He  uttered  that  Benedietion,  He 
threw  into  it  a  new  meaning  by  combining 
with  it  some  gracious  act  or  word.  The  first 
time  we  read,  "  Jesus  stood  in  the  midst  and 
said  unto  them.  Peace  be  unto  you.  And  when 
He  had  so  said,  He  shewed  unto  them  His 
Hands  and  Hi&  Side."  Thus  He  connects  His 
Benediction  of  peace  with  His  Own  sufferings, 
reminding  us  that  the  chastisement  of  our 
peace  is  upon  Him,  and  by  His  stripes  we  are 
healed.  Peace,  true  peace,  is  for  those  to  whom 
the  meaninof  of  the  sufferino^s  of  Jesus  is  dis- 
closed )  for  those  to  whom  He  has  shown  His 
Hands  and  His  Side. 

The  second  time  we  read :  ^'  Then  said  Jesus 
to  them  again.  Peace  be  unto  you :  as  My 
Father  hath  sent  Me,  even  so  send  I  you.  And 
when  He  had  said  this.  He  breathed  on  them 
and  said.  Receive  ye  the  Holy  Ghost."  Thus 
He  connects  His  Benediction  of  peace  with 
His  gift  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  Who  alone  can 
make  peace  and  keep  peace  in  our  hearts  amid 
the  disquietudes,  disappointments,  and  bereave- 
ments of  this  life-  He  not  only  bids  us  be  at 
peace,  but  He  imparts  to  us  that  Holy  Com- 
forter Who  is  the  Author  of  peace.  '^He 
breathed  on  them  and  said^  Receive  ye  the 
Holy  Ghost." 


BENEDICTION    OF  THE  RISEN  LORD.     147 

The  third  time  we  read :  "  After  eight  days 
again  came  Jesus^  and  stood  in  the  midst  and 
said,  Peace  be  unto  you.  Then  said  He  to 
Thomas,  Eeach  hither  thy  finger  and  behold 
My  Hands,  and  reach  hither  thy  hand  and 
thrust  it  into  My  Side,  and  be  not  faithless  but 
believing."  Thus  He  connects  His  Benediction 
of  peace  with  an  appeal  to  our  faith.  He  in- 
vites us,  in  our  trouble,  in  our  anxiety,  and  in 
our  tension,  to  draw  very  near  to  Him,  to  lay 
our  hand  in  His  wounded  Hand  ;  to  surrender 
our  minds  to  Him  with  the  trustful  simplicity 
of  little  children  ;  to  find  peace  in  believing. 
Thus,  attended  by  the  reference  to  His  Own 
sufferings,  by  the  offer  of  His  Holy  Spirit,  and 
by  the  affectionate  appeal  to  our  faith,  the  first 
words  of  the  Kisen  Saviour  to  His  believing 
Church  come  to  us. 

The  first  words  of  our  risen  friends !  How 
eagerly  we  shall  listen  to  them  when,  for  each 
one  of  us  in  turn  who  have  watched  by  the 
bedsides  of  our  beloved,  "  earth  breaks  up  and 
heaven  expands ;  "  and  we,  treading  the  gate- 
way of  Paradise,  are  met  and  welcomed  by  those 
who  have  gone  before  us !  With  what  passion- 
ate eagerness  of  attention  we  strain  our  ears  to 
catch  the  last  broken,  failing  utterances  of  the 
dying;  how  our  very  senses  seem   sharpened 


148    BENEDICTION   OF  THE  RISEN  LORD. 

into  sevenfold  keenness  as  we  bend  over  those 
stricken  lips  whispering  their  farewells ;  and 
when  the  murmuring  grows  inarticulate,  and 
the  speaking  eyes  can  alone  utter  the  love  mes- 
sage, how  breathlessly  we  wait  for  one  more 
possible  word  which  never  comes  !  And  as  the 
years  go  by,  how  we  rejjeat  to  ourselves  the 
last  dear,  imperishable  words  ;  how  we  summon 
our  faithful  memory  to  recall  the  last  glowing 
look  of  affection  !  But  if  we  thus  prize  the 
last  words  of  dying  friends,  shall  we  not  be 
yet  more  glad  to  hear  the  first  words  of  risen 
friends  when  we  meet  them  again  in  Paradise  ? 
Think  of  the  experiences  they  are  having,  while 
we  have  lived  on  without  them ;  think  of  the 
companionship  they  are  having  with  the  true- 
hearted  and  the  holy  on  high  ;  think  of  the 
splendors  they  are  seeing,  before  the  throne  of 
God  and  of  the  Lamb  ;  think  of  the  thoughts 
they  are  thinking  about  us  !  What  will  their 
first  words  of  greeting  be  ?  Which  of  all  their 
bright  experiences  will  they  want  us  first  to 
share  ? 

Let  us  remember  that  all  the  wonderful  sig- 
nificance and  affection  and  heavenly  joy,  which 
we  involuntarily  associate  with  the  first  words 
of  our  risen  friends,  we  may  associate  with  the 
Benedictions  of  the  Risen  Lord.     They  are  to 


BENEDICTION  OF  THE  RISEN  LORD.      149 

US  believers  the  first  words  of  our  Risen  Friend. 
They  are  the  words  with  which  He  breaks 
the  silence  of  the  grave.  "  Peace  be  unto 
you !  Peace  be  unto  you !  Peace  be  unto 
you  !  "     A  threefold  prayer  for  our  peace. 

It  is  good  for  us,  my  brethren,  whose  lot  it 
is  to  dwell  in  this  exciting  and  fatiguing  age, 
to  remember  on  this  Easter  mornino;  that  the 
first  words  of  our  Risen  Friend  are  a  Benedic- 
tion of  peace.  For  I  fear  that  you  as  well  as 
I,  who  are  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  who  feel 
the  startling  rapidity  of  changes,  who  are  sub- 
ject to  that  high  tension  of  mind  and  spirit 
characteristic  of  these  times,  —  I  fear  that  you 
and  I  are  tempted  sometimes  to  ask.  Is  there 
any  peace  ?  Does  that  white  dove  still  brood 
over  any  heart,  or  is  the  whole  world  given 
over  to  anxiety,  and  toil,  and  pressure,  and 
fear  ?  It  may  be  that  I  am  only  growing 
older,  and  seeing  in  my  turn  what  others  have 
seen  before  me  ;  but  certainly  I  am  profoundly 
and  continually  conscious  of  the  prevailing  anx- 
iety, and  strain,  and  multiplication  of  cares,  in 
the  lives  of  those  about  me,  and  often  I  am  at 
a  loss  to  find  evidence  that  Christians  are  tast- 
ing any  holy  calm  and  repose  of  spirit  above 
that  which  is  known  by  others.  There  are 
undoubtedly  forces  active  in  modern  life  which 


150     BENEDICTION    OF   THE  RISEN  LORD. 

tend  to  destroy  our  first  impressions  of  the 
possibility  of  peace.  It  is  beyond  question  that 
men  are  generally  working  with  more  rapidity 
now  than  formerly.  The  machinery  of  life  is 
accelerated.  The  intelliofence  of  the  as^e  is  con- 
centrated  on  this  problem,  —  the  maximum  of 
results  in  the  minimum  of  time.  It  is  beyond 
question,  too,  that  interests  have  multiplied, 
quite  as  rapidly  as  the  rate  of  working.  The 
rapid  working  has  not  increased  the  seasons 
of  leisure,  because  the  bulk  of  work  to  do  has 
grown  with  the  rate  of  doing.  Such  intensity 
has  its  own  brilliant  rewards,  but,  no  less,  its 
own  heavy  costs.  Pressure  has  now  become  a 
second  nature  to  most  men,  and  habitual  pres- 
sure, unless  there  be  some  Divine  counteraction, 
becomes  the  great  antagonist  of  peace. 

Yet  never  was  it  more  true  than  on  this 
blessed  Easter  Day  that  the  great  Benediction 
of  our  Risen  Lord  is  peace.  This  is  His  first, 
His  great  desire  for  us.  He  stands  in  our 
midst  and  says,  "  Peace  be  unto  you."  He  to 
Whom  our  hearts  are  open,  our  desires  known, 
and  from  Whom  none  of  our  secrets  are  hid, 
stands  in  our  midst  on  this  great  day  of  com- 
memoration, looking  with  the  searching  Eyes 
of  Love  into  the  depths  of  each  life.  He  knows 
our  pressure ;  the  strain  on  nerve  and  brain  for 


BENEDICTION  OF   THE  RISEN  LORD.     151 

those  who  are  fio-htino:  the  battle  of  existence, 
—  toiling,  for  their  own  sake  and  for  the  love 
of  dear  ones,  through  opposition  and  through 
calamity.  He  knows  our  care  :  the  burden  of 
the  interests  of  others ;  the  training,  guid- 
ing, helping  work  that  must  be  done  and 
done  again  ;  the  responsibility  of  station  and 
office,  of  parental  headship,  of  social  account- 
ability. He  knows  our  spiritual  struggle  :  the 
importunity  of  unsanctified  impulses,  the  hu- 
mihatino;  stino^  of  moral  failure  ;  the  exhaustino; 
aspirations  after  the  Divine  knowledge.  He 
knows  our  human  sorrow :  the  pang  of  sudden 
grief  ;  the  slow  heartache  of  accomplished  be- 
reavement :  the  restless  huno;er  of  wounded 
affections ;  the  burial  of  reasonable  and  holy 
hopes.  All  these  the  Risen  Saviour  knows  :  yet, 
as  He  stands  in  our  midst.  His  first  words  are, 
"  Peace  be  unto  you."  Christ  \yho  died  for  us 
would  not  mock  us.  He  would  not  say  to  us, 
"  Peace,  peace,  when  there  is  no  peace."  ^  The 
Benediction  of  the  Risen  Lord  must  point  to  a 
peace  which  for  the  Christian  is  attainable  and 
maintainable  amidst  the  actual  conditions  which 
make  up  life. 

If  this  be  so,  we  know  then  that  the  peace 
which  Christ  Avishes  for  us  in  His  Easter  Bene- 
diction is  not  the  peace  which  comes  from  the 

1  Jer.  vi.  14. 


152     BENEDICTION   OF   THE  RISEN  LORD. 

absence  of  care.  How  impracticable  would  such 
a  wish  be  !  Who  can  live  at  all,  and  live 
without  care,  unless  it  be  the  most  selfish  and 
gross  of  lives  ?  Who  can  have  any  breadth  of 
purpose,  any  generosity  of  effort,  any  depth  of 
feeling,  without  taking  on  care  ?  Who  that 
has  the  spirit  of  a  true  man,  or  the  spirit  of  a 
true  woman,  would  ask,  even  if  the  request 
could  be  granted,  a  life  without  care  ?  Every 
relationship  that  ennobles  life  brings  care  with 
it ;  and  the  more  holy  and  vital  that  relation- 
ship the  more  care  is  risked  in  our  assumption 
of  it.  And  we  may  also  be  sure  that  the  peace 
which  Christ  wishes  for  us  in  His  Easter  Bene- 
diction is  not  the  peace  which  comes  from  the 
absence  of  sorrow.  For  who  can  escape  sor- 
row unless  the  heart  has  first  been  turned  to 
marble  ?  Why  should  God  have  placed  within 
you  that  measureless  possibility  of  suifering  if 
you  are  not  made  to  suffer?  The  absence  of 
sorrow  !  Think  what  it  would  mean  1  It  Avould 
mean  that  you  could  see  your  neighbor's  home 
desolated,  his  wife  and  his  child  swept  from  his 
side,  without  one  momentary  interruption  of 
your  own  pleasure.  It  woidd  mean  that  you 
could  see  the  imploring  eyes  of  your  own  dying 
child  turned  upon  you  without  one  pang  shoot- 
ing through  your  being.     It  would  mean  that 


BENEDICTION   OF  THE  RISEN  LORD.     153 

you  could  see  your  Saviour  perish  on  the  cross 
for  your  sake  without  one  outburst  of  contri- 
tion from  your  stony  consciousness.  The  ab- 
sence of  sorrow  ?  God  forbid  1  Christ  could 
not  wish  us  to  have  peace  like  that  ;  brute- 
peace.  Nay,  my  brethren  1  the  glory  of  Christ's 
Easter  Benediction  is,  that  it  contemplates  a 
life  such  as  our  life  is,  with  the  possibilities  of 
care,  pressure,  bereavement,  and  pain  by  which 
we  are  continually  surrounded ;  it  tells  us  of  a 
peace  which  one  may  have  in  his  life  when  the 
storms  of  care  are  raging  around  him,  when 
the  goads  of  pressure  are  driven  into  him  ;  it 
tells  of  a  peace  which  may  flow  like  a  river 
through  the  deeper  depths  of  consciousness 
when  the  anguish  of  bereavement  is  tearing 
the  affections,  and  when  the  paroxysms  of  pain 
are  torturing  the  body. 

What  is  that  peace  ?  Let  us  look  back  to 
the  Resurrection  Day,  and  read  the  deeper 
meanings  of  the  Saviour's  Benediction,  as  with 
each  utterance  of  the  words,  "  Peace  be  unto 
you,"  He  makes  some  sign,  or  speaks  some 
word,  disclosing  His  meaning. 

"  Peace  be  unto  you  !  and  when  He  had  so 
said,  He  showed  them  His  Hands  and  His 
Side."  Our  Risen  Saviour  would  have  us  find 
our  peace  in  remembering  His  sufferings.     In 


154    BENEDICTION   OF   THE  RISEN  LORD. 

this  assembly,  outwardly  serene  and  attentive, 
there  may  be  many  persons  sorely  tried  in  mind, 
body,  or  estate.  Our  own  griefs,  or  the  griefs 
of  our  friends,  may  weigh  upon  us  so  heavily 
that  human  nature  cries  out  impulsively,  "  Is  it 
right,  can  it  be  right,  that  there  should  be  such 
suffering  ? "  To  us  the  Saviour  answers  by 
showing  us  His  Hands  and  His  Side.  These 
are  the  outward  symbols  of  an  inward  suffering 
such  as  man  has  never  known.  These  are  the 
outward  symbols  of  an  inward  suffering  so  im- 
measurably beyond  all  that  man  has  suffered, 
that  He  Who  has  endured  such  suffering  can 
stand  in  the  fellowship  of  all  who  suffer,  and 
can  yet  say,  "I  have  trodden  the  wine-press 
alone."  ^  We  ask.  Why  did  He  suffer  ?  "  Christ 
also  hath  once  suffered  for  sins  that  He  might 
bring  us  to  God."  ^  And  now  day  by  day,  as 
this  mysterious  necessity  of  suffering  is  asserting 
itself  in  our  lives,  as  in  turn  one  after  another 
of  these  households  and  of  these  souls  passes 
through  its  Gethsemane,  the  Risen  Lord  comes 
daily,  hourly,  to  His  people  saying,  "  Peace  be 
unto  you.  Think  not  that  suffering  means 
separation  from  the  love  of  God.  Behold  My 
Hands  and  My  Side." 

"  And  He  said  unto  them  again :  Peace  be 

1  Isa.  Ixiii.  3.  2  1  Pet.  iii.  18. 


BENEDICTION  OF  THE  RISEN  LORD.     155 

unto  you;  and  when  He  had  said  this,  He 
breathed  on  them  and  said,  Receive  ye  the 
Holy  Ghost."  Our  Risen  Saviour  would  have 
us  find  our  peace  through  the  grace  of  the  Holy 
Comforter.  That  the  Christian  may  be  calm  in 
the  midst  of  cares  and  worries,  patient  under 
pain,  submissive  under  sorrow,  he  has  more 
power  at  his  command  than  comes  from  a 
strong  will,  or  from  a  naturally  patient  disposi- 
tion. And  where  the  will  is  not  naturally 
strong,  and  the  disposition  is  not  naturally  pa- 
tient, it  is  not  right  for  us  to  say  that  we  are  at 
a  hopeless  disadvantage.  For  the  Risen  Lord, 
Who  speaks  the  Benediction  of  peace,  sends 
the  Author  and  Agent  of  peace  into  our  hearts, 
breathing  upon  us  and  saying,  "  Receive  ye 
the  Holy  Ghost."  And  to-day,  in  this  age  of 
haste  and  pressure  and  \icissitude,  that  Holy 
Peacemaker  is  working  in  many  Hves ;  and  I 
know  that  in  this  Easter  service  there  are  many 
who  feel  that  their  powers  of  courage,  and  calm- 
ness, and  conquering  trust  this  day  are  not 
the  product  of  strong  human  wills  and  patient 
human  dispositions,  but  are  the  product  of  the 
Grace  of  the  Comforter  Whom  they  have  re- 
ceived, breathed  upon  them  by  the  Risen  Lord, 
and  dwelling  now  within  them ;  creating  an 
inward  sanctuary  of  holy  peace  and  heavenly 


1G6     BENEDICTION   OF   THE  RISEN  LORD, 

harmony  as  they  move  through  a  stormy  and 
difficult  world. 

*'  There  are  in  this  loud  stunning  tide 
Of  human  care  and  crime, 
With  whom  the  melodies  abide 

Of  th'  everlasting  chime; 
Who  carry  music  in  their  heart 
Through  dusky  lane  and  wrangling  mart, 
Plying  their  task  with  busier  feet 
Because  their  secret  souls  a  holy  strain  repeat."  ^ 

"  And  after  eight  days  again  came  Jesus,  and 
stood  in  the  midst  and  said  unto  them,  Peace  be 
unto  you.  Then  saith  He  to  Thomas,  Reach 
hither  thy  finger,  and  behold  My  Hands,  and 
reach  hither  thy  hand  and  thrust  it  into  My 
Side,  and  be  not  faithless  but  beheving."  Our 
Risen  Sa^^our  in  His  Easter  Benediction  appeals 
to  our  faith.  He  asks  us  to  believe  Him ;  to 
lay  hold  of  Him  with  trustful  hands ;  to  ac- 
knowledge Him  as  our  Lord  and  our  God ;  to 
let  Him  lead  us  where  He  will.  It  is  the  secret 
of  peace,  which  the  world  knoweth  not  because 
it  knows  Him  not.  No  philosophy  can  explain 
away  the  mysteries  of  this  human  life.  None 
can  adjust  its  contradictions,  nor  remove  its 
distresses.  The  mysteries,  contradictions,  dis- 
tresses, still  are  there,  after  all  is  said  and  done, 
but  God  gives  us  the  choice  between  the  fretful 

^  Keble  :  St.  Matthew's  Day. 


BENEDICTION  OF  THE  RISEN  LORD.     157 

protest  of  our  unsatisfied  reason  and  the  calm 
confession  of  our  faith  in  the  Risen  Lord  ;  and 
in  the  hour  when  the  troubled  and  terrified 
heart  of  man  yields  a  childlike  trust  to  God, 
in  the  hour  when  the  helpless  hand  of  human 
wisdom  is  placed  in  the  wounded  Hands  of 
Jesus  Christ,  the  Benediction  of  Him  Who  lives 
to  die  no  more  is  accomplished  in  us,  and  the 
distress  of  doubting  passes  into  the  peace  of 
believing. 

"  Peace,  perfect  peace,  in  this  dark  world  of  sin  ? 
The  Blood  of  Jesus  whispers  peace  within. 

"  Peace,  perfect  peace,  by  thronging  duties  pressed  ? 
To  do  the  will  of  Jesus,  this  is  rest. 

"  Peace,  perfect  peace,  with  loved  ones  far  away  ? 
In  Jesus'  keeping,  we  are  safe,  and  they. 

"  Peace,  perfect  peace,  our  future  all  unknown  ? 
Jesus  we  know,  and  He  is  on  the  Throne."  ^ 

^  E.  H.  Bickersteth,  Bishop  of  Exeter. 


X. 

THE  UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS. 


X. 

THE  UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS. 

Preached  on  November  2,  1890. 

'^  Other  men  laboured,  and   ye  are  entered  into  their  la- 
bours." —  St.  John  iv.  38. 

It  is  with  a  heart  full  of  gi-atitude  to  those 
who  have  lived,  and  toiled,  and  aspired,  and  suf- 
fered, and  died  before  us,  that  I  speak  of  The 
Unforgotten  Labourers.  "  Other  men  laboured, 
and  ye  are  entered  into  their  labours."  I  trust 
I  may  never  lose,  beneath  the  multiplicity  of 
later  impressions,  the  impression  that  was  made 
upon  me  of  our  indebtedness  to  those  who 
have  gone  before  us,  and  of  the  charge  we 
have  received  from  their  hands,  when,  sixteen 
years  ago  yesterday,  I  beheld  Charles  Kingsley 
arise  in  Westminster  Abbey,  and  preach  the 
All-Saints'-Day  Sermon.  The  hglit  of  that 
eternity,  upon  which  within  three  months  he 
was  destined  to  enter,  appeared  even  then  to 
rest  upon  his  face,  as  he  spoke  of  those  who 
came  out  of  the  great  tribulation,  who  have 
washed    their  robes  and   made  them  white  in 


162    THE    UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS. 

the  Blood  of  the  Lamb,  and  who  are  before 
the  Throne  of  God.  Well  has  it  been  said  of 
that  sermon  by  her  who  knew  him  best :  "  It 
A^dll  never  be  forgotten  by  those  who  heard  it. 
It  was  Hke  a  note  of  preparation  for  the  hfe  of 
eternal  blessedness  in  the  vision  of  God,  upon 
which  he  himself  was  so  soon  to  enter."  ^ 

I  am  not  sorry  to  find  that,  as  life  has 
moved  onward  from  that  day,  reverence  for 
the  workers  of  the  past,  and  delight  in  com- 
memorating the  Unforgotten  Labourers,  have 
appeared  to  deepen  with  the  years  ;  and  that 
there  come  times  when  these  emotions  com- 
mand expression.  I  do  not  see  that  it  makes 
one  any  less  broad,  any  less  eager  in  his  work, 
—  certainly  it  does  not  make  one  any  less 
humble  and  careful,  —  to  realize  how  much  of 
all  we  do  is  simply  entering  into  conditions  and 
possibilities  created  for  us  by  the  Unforgotten 
Labourers. 

The  principle  enunciated  by  our  Saviour,  as 
He  presses  home  upon  His  disciples  a  sense  of 
their  responsibility,  saying,  "  I  sent  you  to  reap 
that  on  which  ye  bestowed  no  labour  ;  other 
men  laboured,  and  ye  are  entered  into  their 
labours,"    is  one  of    the  principles   most    con- 

1  Charlea  Kingsley :  His  Letters  and  Memories  of  his  Life, 
edited  by  his  Wife,  vol.  ii.  p.  450.     Tenth  ed. 


THE    UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS.         163 

stantly  and  most  seriously  illustrated,  nobly 
and  ignobly,  in  the  history  of  human  affairs  of 
all  kinds,  —  national,  social,  and  personal.  It 
is  easy  to  name  at  once  four  ways,  in  secular 
affairs,  in  which  men  may  be  said  to  have 
entered  into  the  labours  of  other  men.  They 
have  entered  by  Invasion,  or  by  Indolence,  or 
by  Industry,  or  by  Inheritance.  When  the 
army  of  occupation  enters  a  foreign  territory, 
reduces  its  defences,  besieges  its  capital,  un- 
seats its  government,  and  claims  its  revenues, 
it  enters  by  Invasion  into  the  labours  of  other 
men.  When  the  nerveless,  ino^lorious  sluo^- 
gard  relies  on  others  to  do  the  work  he  should 
be  doing,  allows  himself  to  be  supported  after 
the  day  when  he  should  aspire  to  be  the  sup- 
port of  some  dependent  life,  he  enters  by  Indo- 
lence into  the  labours  of  others.  When  the 
indomitable  student  masters  a  great  poem,  ex- 
plores a  great  treatise,  applies  a  great  discov- 
ery, he  enters  by  Industry^  into  the  labours  of 
others.  When  the  child,  grown  man,  putting 
away  childish  things,  takes  with  his  manhood 
the  legacy  of  an  honored  father's  name,  and 
assumes  the  high  position  constituted  by  his 
father's  faithfulness,  he  enters  by  Inheritance 
into  the  labours  of  another.  Thus,  in  ways 
both  weak  and  strong,  in  ways  inglorious,  in 


164    THE    UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS. 

ways  noble  and  worthy,  this  principle  finds 
manifold  application  on  the  field  of  ordinary 
human  affairs. 

But  when  the  soul,  whom  Christ  has  or- 
dained to  serve  Him,  lifts  up  its  eyes  to  the 
Master's  Face  to  learn  how  wide  is  service,  and 
how  high  is  service,  and  how  long  is  service, 
Christ  has  His  wonderful  way  of  interpreting 
to  us  the  width,  and  height,  and  length  of  ser- 
vice. What  is  His  way  ?  Listen  to  one  of  the 
"  stories  of  old."  Lono^  asro  the  heart  of  a 
young  man  was  full  of  fear  when  he  beheld 
the  thronging  enemies  that  gathered  around 
him  and  around  his  prophet-master.^  And  he 
cried,  "  Alas,  my  master  !  how  shall  we  do  ?  " 
And  the  prophet-master  answered  :  "  Fear  not, 
for  they  that  be  with  us  are  more  than  they 
that  be  with  them."  And  the  prophet-master 
prayed  and  said  :  "  Lord,  I  pray  thee,  open  his 
eyes  that  he  may  see."  And  the  Lord  opened 
the  eyes  of  the  young  man  and  he  saw,  and, 
behold,  the  mountain  was  full  of  horses  and 
chariots  of  fire.  Even  thus  there  comes  to 
Christ,  the  Greater  Prophet-Master,  the  soul 
charged  with  the  longing  to  make  life  some- 
what grander  than  a  service  of  self,  the  long- 
ing to  climb  that  Godward  path  of  the  moun- 

1  2  Kings  vi.  15-23. 


THE    UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS.         165 

tain,  that  rises  upward,  ever  upward,  above 
things  base  and  mean,  unto  things  unselfish, 
ungrudging,  undefiled.  And,  coming  to  the 
Prophet-Master,  he  asks,  "  What  shall  I  do  ? 
How  shall  I  do  ?  "  And  the  Prophet-Master 
opens  his  eyes  to  see  that  Godward  path  he 
seeks  to  climb,  and,  lo !  it  is  thronged,  up  to 
the  very  top,  down  to  the  very  bottom  where  he 
stands.  A  multitude  whom  no  man  can  num- 
ber he  sees  with  his  opened  eyes.  They  are 
full  of  unlikeness,  yet  full  of  likeness,  —  full 
of  unlikeness  in  their  earthly  beginnings,  for 
they  are  of  all  nations  and  kindreds  and  peoples 
and  tongues  ;  full  of  unlikeness  in  their  natu- 
ral advantage,  for  some  are  crowned  as  with 
coronets,  and  some  are  in  coarse  raiment ;  full 
of  unlikeness  in  their  natural  strength,  for 
some  are  men  and  some  are  w^omen,  and  many 
are  children  ;  some  are  strong  and  some  are 
suffering.  Yet  full  of  likeness  !  for  the  same 
Light  is  on  their  faces  as  they  climb,  and  the 
same  glad  love  is  in  their  hearts.  And  the 
soul  that  has  come  to  the  Prophet-Master  asks  : 
"  What  are  these,  and  wdience  came  they  ?  " 
And  the  Prophet-Master  answers,  "  These  are 
the  Unforgotten  Labourers.  See  them.  Re- 
member them.  Enter  into  their  labours." 
To-day  the  Prophet-Master  stands  among  us, 


166    THE    UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS. 

and  opens  our  eyes  to  see  that  far-reaeliing 
company  of  the  Unforgotten  Labourers  who 
have  gone  on  before  us,  setting  their  feet 
where  we  w^ould  set  our  own  ;  preparing  the 
way,  that  we  may  not  miss  it ;  doing  so  much 
Ave  need  not  do  again  ;  opening  so  much  for  us 
to  do,  which,  but  for  them,  w^e  could  not  have 
done,  —  we  might  not  even  have  desired  to  do  ; 
showing  us  w^hat  can  be  done,  that  w^e  may 
have  faith  to  try  also  to  do  it.  And  as  the 
Prophet-Master  opens  our  eyes,  we  see  that 
many  of  those  faces  are  faces  we  have  known, 
—  faces  that  w^e  have  seen  flushed  with  energy, 
or  pallid  with  fatigue,  or  wet  with  tears,  or 
furrowed  with  suffering,  that  they  might  keep 
in  that  path  of  service  for  our  sake  who  would 
come  after  them.  And  the  Prophet-Master 
simply  says,  ""  Other  men  laboured,  and  ye  are 
entered  into  their  labours  !  " 

"  Other  men  laboured !  "  This  is  our  Spirit- 
ual Ancestry  !  Pause  a  moment,  earnest  heart, 
wdiile  before  us  remains  this  vision  of  the  God- 
ward  path,  thronged  with  the  Unforgotten  La- 
bourers, and  think  of  that  continuity  of  spirit- 
ual life  wdiich  runs  in  our  veins,  and  runs  back 
from  us,  through  all  the  Unforgotten  Labour- 
ers, straight  to  Him  Who  first,  by  the  Might  of 
His  Ow^n  Example,  and  then  by  the  Mystery  of 


THE   UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS.        167 

His  Cross  and  Passion,  taught  men  to  desire  to 
die  unto  sin  and  live  unto  righteousness  ;  to 
desire  to  spend  and  be  spent  for  the  sake  of 
others.  This  is  the  unwritten  Book  of  the 
Genealogy  of  Jesus  Christ.  In  the  Gospel  of 
St.  Matthew  we  read  that  human  pedigree  of 
Christ,  traced  step  by  step  from  David  down 
to  Him  Who  is  both  David's  Son  and  David's 
Lord.  But  through  the  unbroken  succession 
of  the  Unforgotten  Labourers,  we,  if  the  Spirit 
of  Christ  is  ours,  can  trace  our  spiritual  lineage 
back  through  those  who  have  gone  before  us, 
heart  before  heart,  heart  before  heart,  till  we 
reach  the  Heart  that  came  not  to  be  ministered 
unto  but  to  minister,  and  to  give  Its  Life  a  ran- 
som for  many.  Who  is  not  stronger  for  remem- 
bering, amidst  that  appalling  loneliness  which 
at  times  overtakes  every  one  who  essays  to  live 
above  self  and  above  the  world,  —  who  is  not 
strono^er  for  rememberinof  that  we  ourselves  are 
links  in  that  bright  chain,  the  genealogy  of 
kindred  spirits  knit  together,  the  known  and 
the  unknown,  in  one  communion,  reaching  back 
over  the  wastes  of  nineteen  centuries  ;  grappled 
at  last,  as  with  hooks  of  steel,  to  the  very  Man- 
hood of  the  Son  of  God  ! 

Other  men  laboured !     This  is  the  Brother- 
hood  of    Experience !     Who   has  not  felt,   at 


168    THE   UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS. 

times  overpoweringly,  the  individuality  of  his 
own  mission,  shuddering  with  dread  before  the 
unexplored  newness  of  life  !  The  conditions 
of  his  existence  seem  combined  accordino;  to  a 
new  formula,  whereof  none  has  ever  held  the 
key  or  seen  the  resultant.  It  is  so  awful  to 
live  and  to  know  so  little  of  the  meaning  of 
life ;  to  realize  that  what  we  are  set  to  do  or 
to  imdo,  to  carry  or  to  put  away,  to  conquer  or 
to  crucify,  is  so  unlike  that  which  is  given  to 
others  ;  to  feel  that  we  have  been  flung  upon 
this  dangerous  shore  of  Hfe  as  empty-handed 
and  as  ignorant  as  the  shipwrecked  sailor  swept 
upon  a  land  of  which  he  knows  not  so  much 
as  the  name  !  — 

"  Alone  to  land  upon  that  shore 
With  no  one  sight  that  we  have  seen  before,  — 
Things  of  a  different  hue 
And  sounds  all  strange  and  new,  — 
Ko  forms  of  earth  for  fancy  to  arrange, 
But  to  begin  alone  that  mighty  change."  ^ 

And  then  the  Prophet-Master  simply  says  to 
us,  "  Other  men  laboured  !  "  and  in  that  word 
we  remember  the  Brotherhood  of  Experience  : 
we  know  that  we  are  not  the  first  to  be  flung 
upon  life's  dangerous  coast  with  no  man  to 
tell  the  way :  not  the  first  to  encounter  the 
peril  of  choice,  the  grim  finality  of  decision  ; 

1  F.  W.  Faber,  D.  D. 


THE   UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS.        169 

not  the  first  to  feel  the  currents  of  adversity 
draofo^in(r  backward  around  us  hke  the  under- 
tow;  not  the  first  to  call  and  hear  no  answer 
come  out  of  that  chill,  impenetrable  fogbank 
oE  the  Yet  To  Be  !  Other  men  laboured ! 
Ah,  yes  !  Why  should  we  shrink  back  from 
that  which  has  been  accepted  so  cheerfully, 
endured  so  splendidly,  many,  many  times? 
Why  should  we  feel  that  we  were  singled  out 
for  a  new  vocation  of  pain,  or  privation,  or 
doubt,  or  loneliness,  or  care,  or  toil,  and  not 
acknowledofe  that  in  all  these  thinos  we  are 
but  brethren  to  the  Unforgotten  Labourers? 
Why  should  we  complain,  as  though  an  unjust 
pressure  were  put  upon  us  ;  or  fret,  as  if  the 
pain  were  cruelty  ;  or  debate,  as  though  per- 
chance love  had  leaked  away  out  of  God's 
Heart,  —  wdien  we  know  that  other  men  la- 
boured ?  We  may  be  swept  on  some  desolate 
shore,  but  there  before  us  is  the  footprint  of  a 
man.  We  may  be  shut  up  in  a  very  narrow 
prison,  but  there,  cut  in  the  stone,  is  the  signa- 
ture of  a  saint.     Other  men  laboured  :  — 

"  Where  now  with  pain  thou  treadest,  tpod 
The  whitest  of  the  Saints  of  God  ! 
To  show  thee  where  their  feet  were  set, 
The  light  which  led  them  shineth  yet."  ^ 

And  ye  are  entered  into  their  labours  !     As 

^  John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 


170         THE    UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS. 

we  pass  to  this  part  of  this  great  AYord  of  the 
Prophet-Master,  a  new  light  seems  to  fall  on 
that  long  file  of  the  Unforgotten  Labourers 
toiling  up  before  ns  on  the  mountain  of  God ; 
and  not  only  to  fall  on  them  but  to  fall  on  us, 
showing  us  how  truly  and  how  grandly  we  are 
with  them  and  of  them ;  that  they  could  not 
complete  their  purposes  without  us,  and  we 
could  not  attain  our  victory  without  them. 
"  Ye,"  says  Christ,  "  are  entered  into  their  la- 
bours." We  have  entered  in  as  their  heirs,  — 
they  have  transmitted  an  inheritance.  They 
had  set  their  love  upon  us,  seeing  us  afar  off, 
and  desiring  to  make  the  way  of  truth  more 
clear  and  glorious  in  our  eyes.  Not  for  them- 
selves did  they  live  above  themselves  and  above 
the  Avorld ;  not  for  themselves  have  the  Unfor- 
gotten Labourers  laid  on  the  Altar  of  Sacrifice 
strength,  wealth,  labor,  safety,  —  yes,  even  life 
itself;  not  for  themselves  have  they  endured 
the  Cross,  despising  the  shame ;  not  for  them- 
selves have  they  left  us  an  example  that  we 
should  follow  their  steps,  in  the  pureness  of 
their  mind,  in  the  patience  of  their  gentleness, 
in  the  courage  of  their  faith,  in  the  fidelity  of 
their  love,  in  the  zeal  of  their  work.  ''  They 
dreamt  not  of  a  perishable  home  who  thus 
could    build."      No  !      Those    who    have    had 


THE   UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS.         171 

within  them  most  richly  of  the  Spirit  of  Christ 
have  most  intensely  lived  for  those  who  were 
coming  after  them,  esteeming  themselves  to 
have  succeeded  best  if  they  might  hand  on  to 
us  undefiled  the  Ark  of  Truth,  and  mark  for 
others,  though  it  were  with  their  own  blood, 
the  path  that  leads  at  last  to  the  Light.  Ah, 
blessed  ones !  pure  ones !  who  have  loved  us 
and  have  aspired  for  us  ;  who,  in  their  own 
sorrows,  have  anticipated  ours,  and  have  tried 
to  leave  on  record  that  which  miofht  be  to  us 
a  sign  to  conquer  by  ;  who  in  their  own  aspi- 
rations have  tried  to  lift  us,  "  as  the  easfle 
fluttereth  over  her  young,  spreadeth  abroad 
her  wings,  taketh  them,  beareth  them  on  her 
wings,"  ^  —  they  have  transmitted  an  inherit- 
ance unto  us,  those  Unforgotten  Labourers, 
and  we  are  entered  into  their  labours  !  "  How 
large  a  part  of  our  Godward  life  is  travelled, 
not  by  clear  landmarks  seen  far  off  in  the 
promised  land,  but  as  travellers  climb  a  moun- 
tain peak,  by  putting  footstep  after  footstep, 
slowly  and  patiently,  into  the  prints  which 
some  one,  going  before  us,  with  keener  sight, 
with  stronger  nerves,  tied  to  us  by  the  chord 
of  saintly  sympathy,  has  planted  deep  into 
the  pathless  snow  of  the  bleak  distance    that 

^  Deut.  xxxii.  11. 


172    THE    UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS. 

stretches  up  between  humanity  and  God !  We 
ascend  by  one  another.  No  man  Hveth  to  him- 
self, and  no  man  dieth  to  himself.  We  live 
and  die,  not  only  to  God,  but  to  each  other."  ^ 

"  Other  men  laboured,  and  ye  are  entered 
into  their  labours  !  "  If  upon  any  of  us  has 
fallen  with  power  this  thought  of  the  Unfor- 
gotten  Labourers ;  if  we  have  been  led  to  think 
to-day  of  the  love  a  father  or  a  mother,  a 
brother,  a  sister,  or  a  friend,  bore  toward  us ; 
of  the  efforts  after  completeness  they  made  for 
our  sake ;  of  the  inheritance  of  opportunity 
they  transmitted  unto  us  ;  and  if,  thinking  out 
upon  wider  lines,  we  have  gathered  in  remem- 
brance all  who  loved  us,  who  trusted  in  us, 
and  who  have  gone  before  us  up  that  won- 
drous mountain-path,  —  how  shall  this  thought 
come  in  and  temper  our  characters  from  this 
day  forward  ?  Shall  it  not  make  us  truly 
humble  and  truly  brave  ? 

Truly  humble,  I  say.  Not  falsely  and  un- 
truly humble,  with  vain  and  insincere  attempts 
at  self-dejDreciation,  speaking  of  our  God-given 
powers  as  poor  and  mean.  Not  this,  but  truly 
humble,  as  we  remember  how  much  of  our  best 
labour  is  and  must  continue  to  be  but  an  en- 
tering into  the  labours  of  others ;  how  much  of 
our  finest  life  is  altogether  conditioned  on  the 

1  Bishop  Phillips  Brooks. 


THE   UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS.         173 

genius,  or  the  fidelity,  or  the  sacrifice,  or  the 
suffering  of  those  who  have  gone  before  us ; 
how  much  of  our  most  advanced  and  ao-ores- 
sive  work  is  possible  only  because  Unforgotten 
Labourers  have  laid,  in  courses  of  tears,  the 
twelvefold  foundations  on  which  we  build  our 
heavenliest  superstructures.  Yes  !  truly  hum- 
ble, as  w^e  remember  "  the  saints  who  from 
their  labours  rest ;  "  the  merciful,  the  poor  in 
spirit,  the  meek,  the  pure  in  heart,  the  peace- 
makers, the  persecuted  for  righteousness'  sake. 
How  easy  to  find  among  them  a  Better  to 
crown  our  best,  a  Greater  to  include  and  soar 
above  our  greatest ! 

And  shall  it  not  make  us  truly  brave,  —  oh, 
for  once  and  forever  truly  brave;  not  falsely 
and  vainly  brave,  in  the  emptiness  of  boasting, 
in  the  cheap  disparagement  of  the  awfulness 
of  living;  but  truly  brave  through  the  sense 
of  kinship  with  Unforgotten  Labourers  '''  who 
through  faith  subdued  kingdoms,  wrought 
righteousness,  obtained  promises,  stopped  the 
mouths  of  lions,  quenched  the  \dolence  of  fire, 
out  of  weakness  were  made  strong,  waxed  val- 
iant in  fight,  turned  to  flight  the  armies  of  the 
ahens  "  ?  ^  Yes,  truly  brave,  when  we  remem- 
ber that  we  are  kin  to  those  of  whom  the  world 
1  Heb.  xi.  33,  34. 


174    THE   UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS. 

was  not  worthy ;  who  had  greater  pressure 
than  we,  yet  were  not  broken  under  it ;  greater 
disappointment  than  we,  yet  were  not  embit- 
tered by  it ;  greater  temptation  than  we,  yet 
were  not  vanquished  before  it ;  greater  mys- 
tery than  we,  yet  were  not  hopeless  amidst  it. 
These  all  died  in  faith,  making,  every  one  of 
them,  life  seem  to  some  one  else  forever  a  no- 
bler, wider,  worthier  thing ;  helj)ing,  every  one 
of  them,  goodness  and  purity  and  patience 
and  the  conquest  of  self  to  demonstrate 
themselves  to  some  one  else  as  the  very  evi- 
dences of  Christ ;  leaving,  every  one  of  them, 
sunk  deep  in  the  heart  of  some  one  else  an 
unconquerable  passion  to  be  strong  as  they 
were  strong.  And  we  are  kin  to  them,  those 
TJnforofotten  Labourers  ;  next  in  line  to  some 
of  them  we  stand,  amongst  those  who  have 
essayed  in  Christ  to  climb  that  mountain  path, 
and  to  rise  above  -  self  !  Can  we  drop  out 
where  they  went  on  ?  —  we  fear  to  watch  with 
Him  one  bitter  or  one  arduous  hour,  when 
they  kept  vigil  till  the  day  broke?  It  must 
not  be.  It  cannot  be.  Please  God,  it  shall  not 
be,  if  the  spirit  of  our  life  be  the  spirit  of 
that  supplication  poured  from  a  human  heart 
hundreds  of  years  ago  (the  prayer  of  Thomas 
Aquinas),  "  Give  me,  0  Jesus,  a  wakeful  heart, 


THE    UNFORGOTTEN  LABOURERS.         175 

which  no  curious  imagination  may  withdraw 
from  Thee ;  give  me  a  steadfast  heart,  which 
no  unworthy  affection  may  drag  downward; 
give  me  an  unconquered  heart,  which  no  trib- 
ulation can  wear  out ;  give  me  a  free  and  dis- 
engaged heart,  which  the  violence  of  no  ab- 
sorbing fascination  may  enslave ;  give  me  an 
upright  heart,  which  no  unworthy  purpose  may 
tempt  aside."     Amen. 


XI. 

THE  GIFT  or  ADVERSITY. 


XI. 

THE  GIFT  OF  ADVERSITY. 

"  Though  the  Lord  give  you  the  bread  of  adversity  and  the 
water  of  affliction,  thine  eyes  shall  see  thy  teachers  ;  and  thine 
ears  shall  hear  a  word  behind  thee  saying,  This  is  the  way  ; 
wa^k  ye  in  it."  —  Isaiah  xxx.  20,  21. 

We  have  approached  a  subject  which  can 
only  be  touched,  if  touched  at  all  in  open 
speech,  with  the  greatest  reverence,  with  the 
greatest  tenderness,  and  with  the  greatest  deli- 
cacy, —  The  Gift  of  Adversity.  There  are  three 
reasons  which  can  immediately  be  given  why 
it  is  difficult  to  speak  upon  this  theme.  One 
reason  is,  one  knows  so  little  of  the  extent 
of  adversity  in  the  lives  around  him.  It  is  of 
the  nature  of  prosperity  to  reveal  itself ;  like 
the  vigorous  plant,  it  tends  boldly  out  into  the 
joyous  sunlight,  and  unfolds  its  beauty  to  the 
eyes  of  others.  It  is  of  the  nature  of  adver- 
sity to  hide  itself  within  a  sensitive  life.  In- 
stinctively we  draw  the  robe  of  a  dignified  con- 
cealment over  our  wounded  spirit,  and  prefer 
to  suffer  unobserved.  Therefore  one  who  ven- 
tures to  speak  of  adversity  feels,  almost  with 


180  THE   GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY. 

awe,  how  little  lie  knows  where  his  words  may 
fall  on  pained  and  overburdened  hearts.  An- 
other reason  is  :  One  fears  lest  his  words  may 
sound  superficial  to  those  who  are  in  the  school 
of  adversity ;  that  some  may  say  to  him  in  their 
hearts,  "  Ah,  you  do  not  know.  If  you  knew 
you  would  not  say  it,"  forgetting,  perhaps,  that 
God  has  many  ways  of  giving  us  knowledge  of 
the  gift  of  adversity.  And  yet  another  reason 
is,  that  sometimes  the  heart  resents  the  effort 
to  reconcile  it  to  adversity.  It  refuses  to  be 
comforted.  Its  adversity  is  so  bitter  and  so 
unwelcome  the  heart  is  alienated  from  its  lot, 
repudiates  its  cross,  loathes  its  meagre  fare  of 
bread  and  water,  struggling  restively  to  shake 
off  its  chain.  For  these  reasons,  it  is  no  light 
matter  to  speak  of  adversity. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  a  most  blessed 
subject  on  which  to  speak.  One  is  so  certain, 
in  speaking,  to  find  fellowship  in  many  other 
lives,  who,  like  one's  self,  have  caught,  however 
dimly,  the  thought  that  adversity  must,  in  some 
way,  be  a  gift  of  God  ;  that  it  cannot  all  be  a 
mistake,  a  lapse  and  breakdown  of  His  plan, 
much  less  a  visitation  of  His  anger;  that  it 
must  be  in  the  plan,  and  in  the  love,  and  unto 
the  "  best "  that  "  is  yet  to  be."  One  is  so  cer- 
tain, in   speaking,  that  others  all  around  him 


THE   GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY.  181 

have  had  Christ  made  known  unto  them  in  the 
breaking"  of  the  bread  of  adversity,  in  the  pour- 
ing out  of  the  water  of  affliction,  —  have  had 
the  Real  Presence  in  the  holy  sacrament  of 
hardship,  have  heard  through  pain  and  fear  the 
whisper  of  that  dear  Guardian  Who  follows 
ever  behind  us,  saying,  "  This  is  the  way  ;  walk 
ye  in  it." 

What  is  adversity  ?  Adversity  is  not  merely 
the  loss  of  money.  The  loss  of  money  may, 
and  continually  does,  create  a  state  of  adversity, 
but  it  is  one  of  the  incidental  causes  of  that 
state,  Avhich  may  also  be  brought  about  by  an 
infinite  number  of  other  causes  as  well ;  inso- 
much that  there  may  be  the  most  bitter  adver- 
sity in  a  life  whose  money  matters  are  all  in 
good  condition.  The  clue  to  the  real  nature  of 
adversity  is  found  in  the  word  itself,  "  Adver- 
sus,"  that  which  is  against  us,  contrary  to  us, 
in  opposition  to  our  hopes,  our  desires,  our  ex- 
pectations, or  our  efPorts.  The  failure  of  bod- 
ily strength,  so  that  the  ambitious  and  willing 
spirit  can  no  more  control  the  fainting  and  suf- 
fering flesh,  but  must  go  halting  or  maimed, 
or  internally  tortured,  —  this  is  adversity.  The 
embarrassment  of  our  fortunes,  so  that  hopes 
once  considered  reasonable  are  wrecked  by  the 
weakness  of  another,  and  life  is  made  one  des- 


182  THE   GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY. 

perate,  heart-sickening  chase  to  overtake  our 
pecuniary  obligations,  —  this  is  adversity.  The 
postponement  of  plans,  with  life  slipping  hy, 
and  the  ardent  heart  aching  to  express  itself  in 
greater  ways  ;  yet  stolid  obstacles  standing  in 
the  pathj  and  bolted  doors  of  necessity  shut- 
ting in  the  eager  mind,  —  this  is  adversity. 
The  withheld  completion  of  desire,  when  the 
skilled  and  gentle  hands  remain  empty-handed, 
when  the  hungering  outgoings  of  affection 
remain  unappeased  ;  when  "  the  thing  prayed 
for  comes  "  hopelessly  "  short  of  the  prayer," 
—  this  is  adversity.  The  shattering  of  an 
ideal,  so  that  love  and  trust  are  profaned,  joy- 
ous certitude  transmuted  into  gnawing  doubt, 
hero-worship  beaten  to  the  ground,  and  belief 
in  goodness  savagely  shaken, —  this  is  adversity. 
The  shadow  of  death  !  falling  at  noonday  on 
our  beloved ;  quenching  the  beams  of  mental 
clearness,  hushing  the  silvery  voice  of  greet- 
ing, spreading  through  the  once  joyous  home 
the  gloom  of  fearful  sickness,  the  lamentations 
of  bereavement,  —  this  is  adversity. 

Yes,  these  are  adversity,  and  others  like 
unto  them,  every  one  like  all  the  rest  in  this  : 
it  is  in  our  life  the  expression  of  the  "  Adver- 
sus,"  of  that  which  is  against  us,  and  opposed 
to  us,  from  the  standpoint  of  our  hopes,   de- 


THE  GIFT  OF  ADVERSITY.  183 

sires,  expectations,  or  efforts.  And  avIio  amongst 
us  all  has  not  known  in  some  degree,  small  or 
great,  the  sensation  of  being  met  by  the 
"  Adversus,"  standing  like  a  veiled  angel  in  our 
path,  blocking  the  way,  and,  when  from  our 
impetuous  heart  breaks  the  "I  wdll,"  "  I  must," 
calmly  answering,  "  And  thou  slialt  not."  0 
mysterious  figure  !  veiled  angel  of  the  "  Adver- 
sus ! "  wdience  art  thou  ?  Axt  thou  the  enemy 
of  God  rising  from  the  dark  depths  beneath  to 
thwart  Him,  to  confuse  His  plans,  to  block  His 
way,  to  keep  us  from  entering  into  the  com- 
pleteness He  has  it  in  His  Heart  to  give  us  ? 
or  art  thou  the  messenger  and  gift  of  God,  sent 
down  from  the  Father  of  Lights,  from  Whom 
cometh  every  good  and  perfect  gift,  to  bless  us 
by  opposing  us,  to  enrich  us  by  impoverishing 
us,  to  turn  us  back  from  going  our  way  that 
we  may  find  a  more  excellent  way,  that  we  may 
be  guided  into  all  truth  ?  Whence  is  adversity  ? 
Is  it  all  a  mistake  and  a  catastrophe,  and  an 
evidence  of  failure,  that  in  this  world  so  much 
is  as  we  would  not  have  it  be,  so  much  is  not  as 
we  prayed  it  might  be  ?  Is  it  all  wrong,  and 
confusion,  and  the  losing  of  the  way,  that,  for 
so  many,  life  is  other  than  they  hope,  other  than 
they  desire,  other  than  they  endeavor  to  make 
it?     Or  can  this  be,  not  a  break  in  the  plan, 


184  THE   GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY. 

but  a  part  o£  the  plan  ?  Can  this  be,  not  a 
gloomy  catastrophe,  but  an  order,  a  spiritual 
order ;  not  a  discord,  but  an  involved  harmony, 
to  be  resolved,  through  marvellous  intervals, 
into  the  clear  "  C  major  "  of  a  perfected  life  ? 
Can  it  be  ? 

Listen !  The  one  thing  that  I  seek  most 
carefully  not  to  do  is  to  idealize  adversity,  to 
tell  you  that  pain  is  not  pain,  that  sorrow  is  not 
sorrow,  that  heart-hunger  and  unrest  are  not 
the  devastating  things  they  seem  to  be.  How 
could  one  even  wish  —  much  more,  how  could 
one  dare  —  to  call  pain  by  any  other  name  than 
pain,  or  sorrow  by  any  other  name  than  sorrow, 
when  the  Holy  Ghost  hath  said  "  no  chasten- 
ing for  the  present  seemeth  to  be  joyous,  but 
grievous  ?  "  ^  But  if  the  one  thing  that  I  seek 
most  carefully  not  to  do  is  to  commit  the  van- 
ity of  idealizing  adversity,  and  of  preaching 
any  painless  pain,  the  one  thing  that  I  most 
desire  to  do  is  to  speak  of  what  new  powers 
and  certainties  may  come  into  a  life  and  be 
forevermore  a  part  of  it,  what  new  seeings  and 
what  new  hearings,  if  a  soul  can  in  any  way  be 
brought  to  look  upon  adversity  as  a  gift  from 
the  Father,  —  a  sacrament  of  bread  and  water 
administered  by  the  very  Hand  of  God ;  a  true 
1  Heb.  xii.  11. 


THE   GIFT  OF  ADVERSITY.  185 

communion  ordinance.  Can  I  speak  to  you  of 
this  ?  Will  you  have  patience  with  me  while  I 
speak  of  the  new  seeing  and  the  new  hearing 
which  come  to  those  who  bend  in  communion 
at  this  Life- Altar  of  Sacrifice,  and  who  take 
out  of  God's  Hand  the  Holy  Elements,  the 
bread  of  adversity  and  the  water  of  affliction  ? 
"  Though  the  Lord  give  you  the  bread  of  ad- 
versity and  the  water  of  affliction,  thine  eyes 
shall  see  thy  teachers,  and  thine  ears  shall  hear 
a  word  behind  thee  saying,  This  is  the  way ; 
walk  ye  in   it." 

You  will  perhaps  have  observed,  before  I 
point  out  the  thought  to  you,  that  three  ele- 
mentary factors  of  our  life  stand  related  in  this 
verse,  —  eating,  seeing,  hearing.  God  is  repre- 
sented as  giving  one  a  portion  of  food,  and,  lo  ! 
for  him  who  eats  it  the  eyes  are  opened  to  see 
one's  teachers,  and  the  ears  are  quickened  to 
hear  that  gentle  word  of  reassurance  nerving 
one  with  courage  to  go  on  :  "  This  is  the  way, 
walk  thou  in  it." 

There  could  hardly  be  a  more  profound  way 
of  setting  before  our' minds  what  it  is  to  accept 
adversity,  than  as  it  is  here  represented  under 
the  elements  of  bread  and  water,  given  and 
received :  "  Though  the  Lord  give  you  the 
bread  of  adversity  and  the  water  of  afBiction." 


186  THE   GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY. 

It  is  wonderful  to  group  together  the  appa- 
rently incongruous  ideas  which  are  presented  to 
our  minds  in  the  associations  connected  with 
bread  and  water.  Bread  and  water  are  prison 
fare,  the  most  meagre  and  joyless  table  in  the 
world,  spread  for  him  who  is  deprived  of  lib- 
erty and  of  light,  who  is  appointed  for  the 
discipline  of  loneliness,  of  suffering,  and  per- 
chance of  death.  But  bread  and  water  are 
also  the  great  universal  supports  of  life  ;  they 
are  the  primal  elements  of  man's  strength  in 
all  countries,  in  all  grades  of  society,  in  all 
periods  of  the  world.  Men  of  unrelated  races 
may  not  understand  each  other's  ways  of  living, 
may  look  with  amazement  upon  the  foods  which 
in  various  countries  are  considered  articles  of 
luxury ;  but  where  could  two  men  of  opposite 
nationalities  be  found  who  would  not  under- 
stand and  hold  in  common  the  elements  of 
bread  and  water?  Bread  and  water  are  both 
of  them  taken  by  Christ  as  types  of  Himself,  in 
what  He  is,  in  what  He  can  bestow :  "  I  am 
the  bread  of  life ;  "  ^  "  Whosoever  drinketh  of 
the  water  that  I  shall  give  him  shall  never 
thirst."  ^  They  become,  therefore,  associated 
with  all  that  is  most  rich  in  itself,  with  all  that 
is  most  spiritually  satisfying  to  those  who  can 

1  St.  Juo.  vi.  48.  -  St.  Jno.  iv.  14. 


THE   GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY.  187 

receive  it;  they  are  the  emblems  of  Him  in 
Whom  it  was  the  good  pleasure  of  the  Father 
that  all  the  fulness  should  dwell.^  And  now 
we  are  asked  to  think  of  tliem  as  sacramental 
emblems  of  that  many-sided  adversity  which,  in 
one  form  or  another,  is  so  certainly  to  be  pre- 
sented to  us  for  our  acceptance.  And  with  all 
these  different  thouo^hts  of  bread  and  water 
standing  together  in  our  minds,  —  bread  and 
water  as  the  wretched,  joyless  prison  fare  ;  bread 
and  water  as  the  elements  of  food  which  all  men 
share  in  common  ;  bread  and  water  as  types  of 
the  gracious  fulness  of  Christ,  —  let  us  think 
of  them  as  sacramental  emblems  of  adversity 
offered  to  us  in  the  Hand  of  God,  the  bread  of 
adversity  and  the  water  of  affliction. 

You  look  at  them  and  you  say  :  "Prison 
fare,  meagre  and  wretched  ;  take  them  away. 
I  want  better  food."  Dear  friend,  I  cannot 
blame  you  if  you  say  that,  for  pain  is  pain,  and 
sorrow  is  sorrow,  and  disappointment  is  disap- 
pointment, and  they  are  all  prison  fare,  meagre 
and  joyless  and  repulsive.  Who  wants  to  live 
like  that  ?  Who  does  not  turn  aAvay  sickened 
from  the  diet  of  adversity  to  think  of  the  bright 
and  bounteous  feasts  of  prospeiity  ? 

Bread  and  water  !    Look  again,  and  you  see 

J  Col.  i.  18. 


188  THE  GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY. 

that  they  are  elements,  —  elements  of  all  hu- 
man life,  everywhere,  always.  Who  in  health 
has  ever  lived  altoo-ether  ^Nithout  them  ?  Who 
in  health  could  live  altogether  without  them  ? 
What,  then,  has  heen  a  part  of  human  life, 
always,  everywhere,  and  for  all,  cannot  be  an 
accident,  or  an  exception  under  some  larger 
rule,  or  an  unmitigated  evil.  It  must  he  a  part 
of  the  thino;  itself  that  we  call  life.  Would  it 
be  well  for  any  one  of  us  to  be  exempted  from 
that  which  has  been  offered  always  and  every- 
where and  unto  all  ?  Would  it  be  reasonable 
to  believe  that  for  you  alone,  of  all  humanity, 
greater  completeness  could  be  had  outside  of  the 
rule  than  inside  of  the  rule  ?  Must  not  this 
mystical  bread  and  water  of  adversity  and  afflic- 
tion be  in  some  way  necessary  to  man,  since  they 
are  as  universal  as  life,  —  as  universal  as  death? 
Bread  and  water  ! '  Look  again  !  These  things 
are  chosen  emblems  of  Christ  as  well  as  em- 
blems of  adversity.  He  is  bread  and  He  is 
water  in  the  fulness  and  the  richness  of  His 
capacity  to  feed  the  hunger  of  man's  soul  and  to 
quench  his  thirst.  And  we  know  that  He  ate 
of  the  bread  of  adversity  and  drank  of  the 
water  of  affliction  ;  He  condescended  to  live  on 
the  prison  fare,  and  to  take  into  Himself  the 
primal   elements    of   human   experience.     And 


THE   GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY.  189 

therein  we  all  feel  that  He  lost  not  of  His  ful- 
ness but  gained ;  and  "  in  that  He  Himself 
hath  suffered  being  tempted,  He  is  able  also  to 
succour  them  that  are  tempted."  ^  What  then  : 
can  it  be  that  if  we,  like  Him,  accept  these 
things  as  from  the  Father,  and  so  eat  of  this 
bread  and  drink  of  this  water,  we,  like  Him, 
shall  gain,  and  not  lose,  the  fulness  of  our 
character  ?  "  Take,  eat,"  He  says,  as  He  lays 
in  our  hand  the  bread  of  adversity.  "  Drink 
ye  all  of  it,"  He  says,  and  offers  us  the  water 
of  affliction.  It  is  a  sacrament.  It  is  a  com- 
munion. \Yill  you  receive  the  communion  of 
sickness,  of  loss  of  property,  of  delay,  of  the 
withheld  completion  of  desire,  of  the  shatter- 
ing of  an  ideal,  of  the  shadow  of  death  ?  Will 
you  eat  this  bread,  and  will  you  drink  this 
water,  joyless  and  unattractive  in  itself,  as  from 
God's  Hand  ?  Will  you  receive  it  into  your- 
self, and  let  it  become  a  part  of  yourself,  in- 
corporate in  your  selfhood,  bone  of  your  bone, 
Hesh  of  your  flesh  ?  Then  shall  come  to  pass 
in  you,  accepting  your  adversity  and  not  pro- 
testing against  it,  eating  and  drinking  the  sacra- 
ment of  hardship  and  not  despising  the  chas- 
tening of  the  Lord,^  then  shall  come  to  pass 
in  your  life  the  opening  up  of  new  knowledge, 
1  Heb.  ii.  18.  2  Heb.  xii.  5. 


190  THE   GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY. 

the  consciousness  of  new  help.  "  Thine  eyes 
shall  see  thy  teachers,  and  thine  ears  shall,  hear 
a  word  behind  thee  saying,  This  is  the  way ; 
walk  ve  in  it." 

'-  Thine  eyes  shall  see  thy  teachers,"  — this 
is  the  opening  of  the  eyes  in  the  new  seeing, 
which  comes  only  when  the  sacrament  is  eaten : 
that  isj  when  the  adversity  is  accepted  as  a  part 
of  God's  gift  to  one's  life.  Twice  in  the  Scrip- 
tures, in  very  extraordinary  circumstances  and 
in  absolutely  opposite  relations,  a  new  power 
of  \4sion  is  represented  as  following  the  act  of 
eating,  —  once  in  the  Garden  of  Eden,^  once  in 
the  resting-place  at  Emmaus.'- 

In  the  Garden  of  Eden  the  De^dl  strove  Avith 
a  human  soul  to  alienate  it  from  the  life  of 
God :  his  point  was  to  make  that  life  eat  what 
God  had  not  offered  to  it,  and  his  bribe  was 
the  promise  of  a  new  and  godlike  vision  to 
follow  upon  the  eating.  ."In  the  day  ye  eat 
thei-eof,  then  your  eyes  shall  be  opened  and  ye 
shall  be  as  sfods,  knowino-  o-ood  and  evil."  The 
soul  accepted  from  the  Devil's  hand  that  which 
God  had  forbidden  it  to  accept,  and  its  eyes 
were  opened,  but  unto  what  ?  Unto  shame  and 
confusion,  and  the  dread  of  the  Presence  of 
God. 

1  Geu.  iii.  7.  2  st.  Lk.  xxiv.  31. 


THE   GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY.  191 

In  the  resting  place  at  Emmaus,  in  that  soft 
eventide  of  the  blessed  Easter  Day,  there  sat  at 
meat  a  Man  and  two  companions.  They  did 
not  know  Him.  He  wanted  them  to  know  Him. 
How  did  He  bring  it  about  ?  ^'  It  came  to  pass 
as  He  sat  at  meat  with  them,  He  took  bread  and 
blessed  it  and  brake  and  gave  it  unto  them,  and 
their  eyes  were  opened  and  they  knew  Him." 
"  Though  the  Lord  give  you  the  bread  of  ad- 
versity and  the  water  of  affliction,  thine  eyes 
shall  see  thy  teachers."  There  are  certain  les- 
sons we  cannot  learn  until  we  see  our  teachers. 
These  are  the  lessons  of  adversity.  If  in  the 
bitterness  of  our  soul  we  despise  the  chastening 
of  the  Lord,  holding  the  bread  and  water  to  be 
mere  prison  fare  unfit  to  be  eaten,  there  wiU 
be  nothing  in  adversity  to  teach  us  ;  we  shall 
be  not  one  whit  wiser,  or  richer,  or  grander  in 
character.  It  is  not  adversity  that  sanctifies. 
It  is  the  acceptance  of  adversity  as  a  sacrament 
offered  by  the  Risen  Lord.  In  the  acceptance 
of  what  He  is  pleased  to  offer  us,  comes  the 
opening  of  our  eyes  to  see  our  teachers.  For 
there  are  certain  things  which  no  man  can  ever 
learn,  which  even  God  Himself  cannot  teach, 
except  through  adversity.  There  coidd  not  be 
patience  without  adversity,  for  patience  is  the 
power  of  suffering  calmly  some  dispensation  of 


192  THE   GIFT  OF  ADVERSITY. 

the  Adversus.  There  could  not  be  fortitude 
without  adversity^  for  fortitude  is  the  glorious 
endurance  in  the  presence  of  that  which  brings 
the  strain  and  the  pang  and  the  pressure  of  the 
Adversus.  There  could  not  be  tested  faith 
Avithout  adversity,  for  we  have  not  known  the 
deeper  meanings  of  faith  and  trust  till  we  have 
dared  to  throw  ourselves  on  Christ  in  an  hour 
of  trial,  and  to  enter  personally  into  the  fellow- 
ship of  His  sufferings.  "  Thine  eyes  shall  see 
thy  teachers."  Oh,  that  new  seeing  which 
comes  like  an  added  sense  when  one  has  taken, 
even  once  or  twice,  the  communion  of  hardship 
from  the  Hand  of  Christ,  that  new  sense  of  the 
meanino;  of  life  when  one  has  suffered  even  a 
little  for  righteousness'  sake  ! 

*'  Only  by  its  woes 
Our  life  to  fulness  grows  !  " 

"  And  thine  ears  shall  hear  a  word  behind 
thee,  saying,  This  is  the  way ;  walk  ye  in  it." 
This  is  the  new  hearing  given  to  him  who  takes 
and  eats  this  bread  and  drinks  this  cup,  accept- 
ing his  adversity  as  a  sacramental  gift  of  God. 
In  the  hour  when  he  ceases  to  beat  against  his 
fate,  in  the  hour  when  without  bitterness  he 
accepts  his  portion,  there  begins  to  come  into 
his  life  a  sense  of  the  nearness  of  Christ,  and  an 
assurance,  nobler  in  its  influence  than  anything 


THE   GIFT   OF  ADVERSITY.  193 

else  on  earth,  that  in  suffering  he  is  not  losing 
all,  but  gaining  all ;  and  his  ears,  quickened  of 
God,  hear  a  word  behind  him,  a  word  of  calm- 
ness, a  word  of  reassurance,  saying :  "  This  is 
the  way,  walk  thou  in  it." 

"  This  is  the  way."     Oh,  word  of  comfort  in- 
deed !  setting  us  right  about  the  meaning  of  life. 
Hardship  and  trouble  seem  to  him  whose  eyes 
are  not  opened,  whose  ears  are  not  quickened, 
like  the  losing  of  the  path,  like  a  plunge  in  the 
darkness  over  the  brink  of  the  path  into  the 
thicket  and  the  fen.    And  he  struggles  there  in 
the  darkness,  feeling  that  his  life  is  broken  and 
overturned.    He  thinks  that  he  is  alone.    Others 
seem  to  have  gone  on  and  left  him  to  struggle 
in  the  dark.     At  last,  weary  of  struggling  in  a 
place  without  a  path,  he  bethinks  him  of  Christ, 
and  in  the  darkness  and  the  loneliness  he  wishes 
that  he  knew  where  he  might  find  Him,  that 
Christ  would  come  to  him  and  lead  him  up  to 
the  path  once  more.     He  prays,  he  trusts,  he 
accepts   the    will    of    God ;  and,  lo !    a    gentle 
whisper  in  the  darkness,  a  w^ord    behind    him 
saying :  "  This  is  the  way ;  walk  thou  in  it." 
Christ  is  there  with  him,  and  has  never  left  him. 
He  has  not    lost  his  way.       This  is  tlie  way, 
—  strangely    dark,  and    strangely    rough,  and 
strangely  lonely,  but  still  the  way  that    leads 
out  at  last  into  the  sunlight.     Amen. 


XII. 
THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL. 


XII. 

THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL. 

"  That  the  Life  of  Jesus  may  be  manifested  in  our  mortal 
flesh."—  2  Corinthians  iv.  11,  R.  Y. 

The  theme  of  this  sermon  is  The  Splendid 
Ideah  What  else  could  it  be  with  such  a  text, 
so  clear,  so  fearless,  so  purposeful,  so  compre- 
hensive ?  In  the  realm  of  the  industrial  arts,  man 
by  thought  and  skill  has  realized  many  wonder- 
ful ideals,  in  bringing-  resultants  of  beauty  out 
of  unlikely  and  unbeautiful  substances.  Out 
of  the  lump  of  dingy  ore  he  coins  the  glittering 
eagle  and  the  shining  sovereign  ;  out  of  the 
bale  of  unclean  rao-s  he  brino-s  the  reams  of 
spotless  paper  ;  out  of  the  black  mass  of  coal 
tar  he  evolves  the  brilliant  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow. But  the  most  splendid  ideal  which  ever 
shot  hke  fire  from  heaven,  to  light  up  man's 
mind,  came  when  it  was  given  him  to  conceive 
of  exhibiting  in  a  life  limited  by  sin,  enfeebled 
by  infirmity,  and  given  over  unto  death,  the 
light,  the  symmetry,  the  strength,  of  the  one  All- 
Perfect  Life.       If  we  did  not  know  that  the 


198  THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL. 

thought  was  given  hmi  of  God,  breathed  into 
him,  as  the  breath  of  a  new  existence,  by  the 
breathings  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  w^e  should  call  it 
a  presumptuous  and  daring  ideal.  But  we  know 
that  God  has  given  us  this  splendid  ideal ;  God 
Himself  has  tauo'ht  us  to  formulate  it,  and  to 
look  upon  it  as  by  no  means  an  impossibihty  ; 
"  That  the  Life  of  Jesus  may  be  manifested  in 
our  mortal  flesh." 

Under  three  divisions  of  thought  we  shall 
study  the  splendid  ideal.  The  three  are  com- 
prehended in  the  text.  First,  there  is  the  idea 
of  manifesting  :  "  That  the  Life  of  Jesus  may 
be  manifested."  Second,  there  is  the  splendid 
thing-  to  be  manifested :  "  The  Life  of  Jesus." 
Third,  there  is  the  scene  of  this  proposed  exhi- 
bition of  "  The  Life  of  Jesus  manifested  in 
our  mortal  flesh."  Herein,  then,  are  three 
clear  divisions  of  thought,  —  the  idea  of  mani- 
festation ;  the  thing  to  be  manifested ;  the 
scene  of  the  proposed  manifesting.  The  idea 
of  manifestation  is  the  highest  possible  thought 
man  can  entertain  about  himself.  The  thing 
here  proposed  for  manifestation  is  the  greatest 
possible  thing  that  can  be  manifested.  The 
scene  of  this  proposed  manifestation  is  at  once 
the  most  unhkely  and  the  most  appropriate 
possible  scene  for  this  particular  exhibition. 


THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL.  199 

The  idea  of  manifestation  is  the  highest  possi- 
ble thouo'ht  man  can  entertain  about  himself. 
There  are  times  when  a  man  must  tliink  ear- 
nestly, and  think  earnestly  about  himself.  He> 
cannot  always  continue  a  stranger  to  himself. 
Many  of  us  do  not  desire  to  be  strangers 
to  ourselves ;  and  often  we  willingly  yet 
anxiously  ponder  this  question :  Why  am  I 
here  ?  Why  was  I  sent  into  the  world  ?  What 
does  life  really  mean  to  me  ?  If  it  were  possible 
to  hold  every  one  to  this  question  long  enough 
to  extort  the  answer,  and  the  true  answer,  —  the 
answer,  that  is,  which  would  represent  the  ex- 
act and  literal  ideal  of  the  individual  who  or-ave 
it,  —  it  is  probable  that  three  answers  would  in- 
clude the  replies  of  almost  all  persons.  What 
does  life  really  mean  to  me  ?  To  escape.  What 
does  life  really  mean  to  me  ?  To  acquire. 
What  does  life  really  mean  to  me  ?  To  mani- 
fest. 

To  escape,  to  acquire,  to  manifest.  These 
three  are  thoughts  that  men  have  entertained 
about  themselves  ;  probably  most  men  have  had 
o^limmerino^s  of  all  of  these  three  thouohts  at 
one  time  or  at  another  time  :  yet,  in  the  heart 
of  hearts,  one  or  the  other  of  these  thoughts  is 
dominant,  and  gives  tone  to  the  life. 

What   does   life   really    mean  to    me?     To 


200  THE   SPLENDID  IDEAL. 

escape.  This  is  the  feeblest  of  the  three  replies, 
and  I  fear  must  be  looked  upon  as  character- 
istic of  the  weakest  natures.  I  say  so  tenderly, 
but  without  hesitation.  Life  appears  to  mean, 
to  some,  perpetual,  lucky  escape ;  always  get- 
ting out  of  things  just  in  time  to  evade  responsi- 
bility; always  managing  to  turn  off  the  hard 
work  upon  some  one  else  ;  always  contriving  to 
slip  along^  in  happy  heedlessness,  smiling  or 
whistling;  always  well  out  of  sight,  cruising 
on  some  sunny  Galilee,  when  some  one  else  is 
beins:  crucified  at  Jerusalem. 

What  does  life  really  mean  to  me  ?  To  ac- 
quire. This  is  the  robust  reply  of  the  average 
natural  man,  in  the  race  and  bound  to  win. 
Clear  as  to  his  brain,  he  sights  opportunities 
far  ahead,  and  crowds  on  all  sail  to  overtake 
them.  Hot  as  to  his  ambition,  he  has  no  idea 
of  being  left  behind  in  anything  he  undertakes. 
Kind  as  to  his  heart,  he  wants  the  best  for 
those  he  loves,  and,  outside  of  getting  it,  he 
knows  no  vocation.  "  Have  I  made,  or  have  I 
lost  ?  "  is  the  balance  in  which  he  weighs  the 
years.  How  many  grand,  true-hearted  men  are 
in  this  class  !  It  is  not  I  who  say  they  are  in  it, 
they  say  so  themselves  :  "  We  are  men  of  busi- 
ness through  and  through."  But  God  is  lead- 
ing some  of  them  to  be  this  not  only,  but  much 


THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL.  201 

more  than  this,  —  even  to  toucli  with  their 
truest  selfhood  that  plane  where  the  hf e  is  more 
than  meat,  and  the  body  is  more  than  raiment, 
and  where  the  meaning  of  life  is  more  than  to 
acquire. 

For  there  is  a  higher  plane,  w^hether  man 
reach  it  or  not,  —  a  plane  where  he  who  asks 
himself,  "  What  does  life  really  mean  to  me  ?  " 
answers  with  most  serious  and  noble  joy,  It 
means  to  manifest.  And  what  is  this  word, 
''  to  manifest  "  ?  It  is  to  express  sometliing, 
to  say  some  word  with  the  lips,  or  wdth  the 
pen,  or  with  the  pencil,  or  with  the  brush,  or 
with  the  chisel,  or  with  the  instrument  of  music, 
or  with  the  sword,  or  with  the  use  of  property, 
or  with  the  force  and  truth  of  character,  which 
will  honor  God,  the  Power-giver,  and  which 
wall  bless,  strengthen,  delight,  or  guide  others 
in  the  saying  of  it.  Yes,  to  manifest,  to  express, 
to  utter  something,  —  the  consciousness  that  one 
is  sent  here  for  this  is  the  highest  possible 
thought  man  can  entertain  about  himself,  and 
out  of  it  have  been  born  the  best  attainments 
ever  reached  by  man  or  woman  :  the  greatest 
bravery,  the  most  brilliant  talent,  the  most  com- 
pelling eloquence  of  character,  the  most  mar- 
vellous influence  over  youth,  the  most  telling 
witness-bearing^  for  Jesus  Christ.      Life  in  its 


202  THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL. 

highest  sense  signifies  not,  for  such,  to  escape, 
not  to  acquire  ;  but  supremely,  to  manifest,  to 
utter,  to  express  some  God-given  power  of  gen- 
ius, or  courage,  or  love.  And  wherever  we  find 
the  greatest,  we  find  those  to  whom  life's  suprem- 
est  meanino^  has  been  to  manifest,  to  sav  in 
word  or  deed  what  one  has  been  given  to  say. 
And  those  who  have  walked  most  gloriously  on 
that  plane  are  those  whose  names  are  coupled 
w  ith  the  greatness,  or  the  beauty,  or  the  bravery 
of  what  they  uttered,  whether  their  deeds  were 
material  or  spiritual.  Of  such  were  some  we 
knew  in  the  flesh,  and  others  whom  w^e  knew 
only  in  the  glory  of  their  names  and  in  the 
immortal  earnestness  of  their  works.  Of  such 
were  Roswell  Hitchcock  and  Mary  Brigham, 
Philip  Sheridan  and  George  Peabody,  Albert 
Thorwaldsen  and  Eichard  Wagner,  Robert 
Browning  and  Lacordaire,  Elizabeth  of  Hun- 
gary and  Savonarola,  Saul  of  Tarsus  and  John 
the  Baptist.  To  each  and  every  one  of  these, 
and  to  all  who  share  their  spirit,  the  mean- 
ing of  life  has  been  first  and  supremely  to 
manifest,  to  say  a  word  that  has  been  given, 
to  be  a  voice  crying  in  the  wilderness,  or 
shouting  on  the  battlefield,  or  pleading  from 
the  pulpit,  or  counselling  in  the  school,  or 
consecrating    a  fortune,    or    carving    thoughts 


THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL.  203 

in  marble,  or  revealing  humanity  to  itself 
through  philosophic  music  and  verse.  Wide 
as  were  the  differences  between  these  lives, 
they  were  one  in  this :  to  all  of  them  alike 
life  meant  more  than  to  escape,  —  more  even 
than  to  acquire :  it  meant  supremely,  to  ex- 
press, to  utter,  to  m^anifest  that  which  had 
been  given  them,  that  they  might  not  keep  it 
to  themselves,  but  that  they  might  give  it  forth 
again  to  others.  The  highest  meaning  of  life 
for  us  therefore,  as  for  them,  is  not  to  have 
escaped  toil  and  care,  and  to  have  slipped 
along  easily  ;  it  is  not  to  have  acquired  that 
which  satisfies  our  desires,  and  which  enables 
us  to  settle  down  in  comfortable  tranquillity : 
the  highest  meaning  of  life  is  to  express,  in 
word  and  deed,  the  best  which  God  has  made 
known  to  us.  He  who  simply  escapes  has  his 
poor  reward  ;  he  to  whom  life  only  means  to 
acquire  has  his  share  of  satisfaction  if  his  plans 
turn  out  well ;  but  only  he  who  has  caught  the 
idea  of  expressing  in  his  life  some  word,  some 
thought  of  helpfulness  which  God  has  given 
him  to  say,  —  only  he  has  thought  the  highest 
thouo'ht  which  man  can  think  about  himself. 

As  we  study  onward  concerning  this  splendid 
ideal,  which  God  sends  to  our  minds  through 
His  Word,  we  find  not  only  that  it  is  an  ideal 


204  THE   SPLENDID  IDEAL. 

o£  'manifestation,  which  is  the  highest  possible 
thought  man  can  entertain  about  himself,  buj: 
we  find  also  that  the  thing  here  proposed  for 
manifestation  is  the  greatest  possible  thing  that 
can  be  manifested.  The  splendid  ideal  is  not 
only  that  we  shall  live  the  life  of  manifestation, 
as  against  the  ignoble  life  of  mere  escaping,  or 
as  against  the  insufficient  life  of  mere  acquisi- 
tion. The  splendid  ideal  is,  that  in  our  manifest- 
ing, we  shall  manifest  the  greatest  thing  that 
could  possibly  be  manifested :  "  That  the  Life 
of  Jesus  may  be  manifested."  There  are  not 
two  opinions  about  the  grandeur  of  the  Life 
of  Jesus.  Whatever  men  may  confess  or  deny 
about  the  Nature  of  Jesus,  all  men  grant  that 
the  Life  of  Jesus  is  the  most  perfect  life,  in  its 
purity,  truth,  and  love,  that  has  ever  been 
revealed  on  earth.  All  men  believe  in  His 
holiness.  Even  the  devils  believe  and  tremble. 
Let  us  speak  for  a  moment  of  the  Life  of  Jesus, 
and  rest  in  the  brightness  of  it.  What  a  per- 
fect circle  of  radiant  qualities  meet  in  Him ! 
so  that,  whatever  form  of  excellence  we  think  of, 
we  find  it  completely  expressed  in  Him.  What 
holy  and  entire  separation  from  sin  we  find  in 
the  Life  of  Jesus  !  Tempted  as  He  was,  in  ways 
so  fierce  and  so  frequent,  sin  could  find  no  door 
of  entrance;    the   tempter   never  discovers  an 


THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL.  205 

unguarded  point ;  he  is  always  driven  back. 
What  long-suffering  we  find  in  the  Life  of 
Jesus !  Patient  in  tribulation,  silent  under 
provocation,  reviling  not  again,  looking  even 
with  large-hearted  compassion  upon  his  igno- 
rant murderers.  He  is  indeed  the  incarnation 
of  long-suffering.  What  obedience  we  find  in 
the  Life  of  Jesus  !  His  Father's  wish  is  law 
unto  Him,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end. 
His  meat  is  to  do  the  will  of  Him  that  sent 
Him,  and  to  finish  His  work.  What  sympathy 
we  find  in  the  Life  of  Jesus !  His  is  the  most 
affectionate  and  tender  of  lives,  never  impatient 
of  the  claims  of  suffering,  never  repulsed  by  the 
offensiveness  of  disease,  most  marvellous  in  His 
power  to  understand  and  minister  unto  the 
griefs  of  the  heart,  gentle  and  reverent  toward 
the  little  children !  What  submission  we  find 
in  the  Life  of  Jesus  !  He  has  given  himself  to 
His  work,  and  He  accepts  all  that  comes  with 
it  —  its  loneliness,  its  humiliation,  its  terrible 
pressure,  its  final  and  consummating  agonies  ! 
What  steadfastness  we  find  in  the  Life  of  Jesus  ! 
A  glorious,  undeviating  purpose  :  whether  men 
walk  with  Him,  or  walk  with  Him  no  longer ; 
though  plots  are  thickening  in  His  path,  and 
passionate  outbursts,  premonitory  of  the  bitter 
end,  are  breaking  forth  against  Him,  —  nothing 


206  THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL. 

can  turn  His  face,  once  set  towards  Jerusalem. 
Oh,  the  perfect  Kfe  I  Well  did  St.  John  say, 
"And  the  Life  was  the  Light  of  Men."  ^ 

It  is  this,  it  is  even  this,  which  is  given  us,  in 
the  splendid  ideal,  as  the  thing  we  are  to  ex- 
press, to  utter,  to  manifest :  "  That  the  Life  of 
Jesus  may  be  manifested  ;  "  that  His  Life,  which 
was  uttered  once  in  the  days  of  the  flesh,  as 
the  revelation  of  the  Father  to  men,  may  be 
uttered  again  by  each  one  of  us  as  the  mani- 
festing of  that  same  Life  to  those  who  are 
round  about  us.  This  is  the  A^ill  of  God  con- 
cernmg  us.  This  is  God's  splendid  ideal  for 
us.  This  was  God's  splendid  ideal  for  man  at 
the  very  beginning,  when  He  said,  "  Let  us 
make  man  in  our  image,  after  our  likeness,"  ^ 
and  when  God  created  man  in  His  own  image. 
And  God  never  departs  from  His  ideals.  Man 
has  become  a  sinful  person,  defacing  the  Di- 
vine image.  But  God  has  the  same  .splen- 
did ideal  for  man  fallen  which  He  had  for 
man  unf alien.  And,  in  Christ,  God  has  taken 
steps  to  realize  in  man  the  accomplishment 
of  His  long  postponed  ideal  by  redeeming 
man,  by  giving  back  His  Holy  Spirit  to  man, 
and  by  creating  through  that  Spirit  the  desire 
in  man's  heart  "  to  be  conformed  to  the  image 

1  St.  Jno.  i.  4.  2  Geu.  i.  26,  27. 


THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL,  207 

of  His  Son,"  ^  that  the  Life  of  Jesus  may  be 
manifested  in  us  and  expressed  by  us.  This 
desire  is  ah'eady  created  in  the  hearts  of  many 
of  us.  We  are  conscious  of  the  splendid  ideal, 
as  in  a  true  sense  our  ideal ;  and  often,  in  our 
moments  of  greatest  spiritual  elevation,  we  look 
forward  to  a  time  of  immortal  completeness, 
when  we  shall  be  rid  of  these  impediments  of 
earthly  habit,  and  these  tendencies  of  earthly 
sin,  and  when,  standing  in  the  blaze  of  the 
Eternal  Light,  we  shall  at  last  attain  the  splen- 
did ideal,  and  manifest  in  our  glorified  char- 
acters the  Life  of  Jesus.  We  connect  this 
hope  with  our  Resurrection,  saying  with  the 
Psalmist,  "  I  shall  be  satisfied,  when  I  awake, 
with  Thy  likeness."  ^  We  connect  this  hope 
with  the  manifesting  of  Christ'  in  His  glory, 
saying  with  St.  John,  "  It  doth  not  yet  appear 
what  we  shall  be,  but  we  know  that  if  He  is 
manifested  we  shall  be  like  Him,  for  we  shall 
see  Him  as  He  is."  ^  And  so  we  chiefly  look  to 
the  future  state  as  the  scene  of  this  exhibition 
of  the  Life  of  Jesus  in  ourselves,  the  scene 
where  the  splendid  ideal  shall  at  last  bfe  realized. 
But  this  is  not  the  point  which  is  pressed 
upon  our  attention  in  this  scripture  open  be- 
fore us  ;  this  far-off  scene  of  future    glory  is 

1  Rom.  viii.  29.  2  pg.  xvii.  15.  ^  i  j^o.  iii.  2,  R.  V. 


208  THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL. 

not  the  scene  to  which  we  are  advised  to  limit 
the  splendid  ideal.     On  the  contrary,  there  re- 
mains one  part  o£  our  text  yet  to  be  considered, 
which  brings  to  the  heart  a  sense  of  joy  and 
hope.       We  are  told  that  the  scene  of  this  pro- 
posed manifestation    is  at  once  the  most    un- 
likely and  the  most  appropriate  scene  for  such 
a  manifestation.       That  the  Life  of  Jesus  may 
be  manifested,  where  and  when  ?       Not  in  our 
immortal  spirits  after  they  are  delivered  from 
this  body  of  death.     Not  in    that    illustrious 
hour  of  awaking  and  of  glory  when  Ave  shall 
see  Him  as  He  is,  and  when  perfectly  reflecting 
His  likeness  in  the  mirror  of  a  perfected  life,  we 
shall  be   absolutely  conformed   to  His  image ; 
not  then,  but  now,  to-day,    here :    "  That  the 
Life  of  Jesus  may  be  manifested  in  our  mortal 
flesh."     Most  unlikely  scene  for  such  an  exhi- 
bition !      Our  reason  would    say,    "  Anywhere 
but  here  is  the  place   for  a  man  to  manifest 
in  himself  the  Life  of  Jesus."     In  our  mortal 
flesh  !  our  dying  flesh  !  —  what  pathetic  realism 
in  this  word  !    How  perfectly  uncertain  our  life 
is,  intensely  mortal,  subject  to  death  from  the 
hour  of  birth,  liable  to  be  cut  off  in  a  day,  in  a 
moment,  in  the  tenth  part  of  a  second  !      How 
subject  to  the  physical  infirmities  of  the  mortal 
state :  to  pain,  with  all  its  ingenious  power  to 


THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL.  209 

torment  the  iierA^es  and  wear  out  the  will ;  to 
over-fatigue,  with  the  loss  of  courage  and  the 
lack  of  self-control  which  attend  upon  it ;  to 
old  age  with  its  decaying  faculties  !  And  how 
compassed  about  is  our  mortal  flesh  with  the 
influence  of  that  of  which  death  is  the  washes 
and  the  offspring,  even  sin !  Sin  is  in  our 
mortal  body,  and  in  our  mortal  life,  through 
and  through.  The  temptations  of  our  mortal 
flesh,  how  terrible  they  are  !  The  tendencies  un- 
governable by  the  will,  the  base  desires  of  the 
flesh,  the  covetous  desires  of  the  eye,  the  un- 
spiritual  vainglory  of  life,  —  how  utterly  unlike 
are  these  to  the  Life  of  Jesus,  and  how  unlikely 
is  such  a  scene  as  this  of  our  mortal  flesh  as  a 
scene  in  which  to  express,  to  manifest,  to  have 
our  life  become  an  utterance  of  the  Life  of 
Jesus !  "  Oh,  let  us  be  delivered,"  we  cry, 
"  from  this  body  of  death ;  let  us  put  off  this 
mortal  flesh  and  all  the  infirmities  and  unholi- 
nesses  wliich  have  attached  themselves  to  us  ; 
let  us  rise  to  the  immortal  state,  to  the  Eternal 
Light,  and  there  we  will  manifest  the  Life  of 
Jesus."  "  Not  so,"  saith  the  Spirit,  "  but  now  is 
the  splendid  ideal  offered  you  :  that  the  Life  of 
Jesus  may  be  manifested  in  your  mortal  flesh." 
And  as  the  Spirit  presses  the  splendid  ideal 
upon  us,  we  think  another  thought.      This  life 


210  THE  SPLENDID   IDEAL. 

of  our  mortal  flesh  may  seem  a  most  unlikely 
scene  for  the  exhibition  of  the  Life  of  Jesus, 
but  is  it  not  the  most  appropriate  of  all  possible 
scenes  for  such  an  exhibition  ?  Where  ought 
the  Life  of  Jesus  to  be  manifested  and  honored 
if  not  in  that  mortal  flesh  which  He  took  upon 
Himself  that  He  might  endure  therein  His  own 
liumiHation,  and  share  therein  our  burden  and 
our  temptation  ?  "  Forasmuch,  then,  as  the 
children  are  partakers  of  flesh  and  blood,  He 
also  Himself  likewise  took  part  of  the  same."  ^ 
It  was  in  our  mortal  flesh  Jesus  became  In- 
carnate. It  was  in  our  mortal  flesh  Jesus  was 
tempted.  It  was  in  our  mortal  flesh  Jesus 
groaned  in  agony,  while  drops  of  blood  coursed 
downward  to  the  ground.  It  was  in  our  mortal 
flesh  Jesus  was  raised  to  the  Cross,  a  spectacle 
of  derision  before  the  eyes  of  the  world.  It  was 
in  our  mortal  flesh  He  died  and  was  hidden  in 
the  grave.  It  was  in  our  mortal  flesh,  changed 
with  the  Resurrection  change.  He  rose  and  as- 
cended up  on  High,  leading  Captivity  captive, 
and  o'ivinof-  oifts  unto  men.  Is  it  not  ris^ht, 
then,  that  the  Life  of  Jesus  should  be  ex- 
pressed, uttered,  manifested,  here  and  now,  in 
our  mortal  flesh?  While  all  things  are  as  they 
are,  —  full  of  confusion,  overwork,  sinful  desire, 

1  Heb.  ii.  14. 


THE  SPLENDID  IDEAL.  211 

strain,  incompleteness,  noise,  vanity,  sickness, 
sorrow,  change,  —  this  is  the  splendid  ideal 
which  the  Holy  Spirit  gives  to  every  one  of 
us  who  is  also  one  of  His. 

It  is  the  splendid  ideal  for  the  mother  in  her 
home ;  that,  amidst  the  nameless  cares  and  irri- 
tations, the  perpetual  arrears  of  unfinished 
work,  the  broken  rest,  the  wearied  nerves,  the 
Life  of  Jesus,  in  its  sweet  patience,  its  match- 
less sympathy,  its  holy  ^dsdom,  may  be  mani- 
fested in  her  mortal  flesh. 

It  is  the  splendid  ideal  for  the  man  of  busi- 
ness that,  amidst  the  baseness  of  unholy  minds 
and  the  profane  wit  of  unclean  imaginations, 
he  may  show  the  purity  of  Christ's  thought  in 
his  own ;  that,  amidst  the  unscrupulous  dealers 
in  the' rights  of  others,  and  the  cunning  lovers 
and  makers  of  lies,  he  may  utter  the  truth  and 
the  honor  of  Jesus  in  every  verbal  engagement, 
in  every  written  promise ;  that,  amidst  the  free 
indulgence  of  intemperate  appetites,  and  the 
unmanly  neglect  of  home,  he  may  show  the 
simplicity  and  self-control  and  chivalry  of  Jesus. 
So  shall  the  Life  of  Jesus  be  manifested  in  his 
mortal  flesh. 

It  is  the  splendid  ideal  for  those  who  enter 
society  that,  amidst  the  scenes  where  conversa- 
tion is  of  the  lightest,  and  where  by  common 


212  THE   SPLENDID  IDEAL. 

consent  seriousness  is  out  of  form,  they,  if  tliey 
enter,  may  show  the  earnestness  and  helpful- 
ness of  Him  Who  thought  life  too  great  and 
grand  and  high,  at  any  time,  to  close  His  eyes 
ao'ainst  its  truth. 

It  is  the  splendid  ideal  for  the  boy  in  his 
boyhood  that,  when  the  whisperings  of  dis- 
honor and  the  invitations  of  secret  wrong  are  in 
his  ears,  he  may  stand  unabashed  on  the  side  of 
Jesus,  and  dare  to  be  separate  from  sinners ; 
that,  when  the  unstable  wills  of  others  are  bend- 
ing and  swaying  in  the  gusts  of  impulse,  he 
may  walk  erect  in  the  earnestness  of  Jesus,  and 
manifest  in  his  mortal  flesh  the  steadfast  hfe  of 
his  Great  Head-master.     Amen. 


XIII. 
THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB  OF  LIFE. 


XIII. 

THE   MOUNTAIN-CLIMB  OF  LIFE. 

Preached  on  the  First  Sunday  in  the  Year  1891. 

"Wait  ou  the  Lord  ;  be  of  good  courage,  and  He  shall 
strengthen  thine  heart  :  wait,  I  say,  on  the  Lord."  —  Psalm 
xxvii.  14. 

On  this  first  Lord's  Day  afternoon  of  the 
New  Year,  the  sense  of  the  beginning  still 
lingers  with  us.  We  are  still  getting  ready 
to  climb  the  mountain  ;  this  Matterhorn  of  a 
New  Year,  which  springs  from  the  base,  where 
we  are  standing,  up  and  up  into  the  silent 
blue.  We  are  seeing  if  there  is  meat  and 
drink  in  our  wallets,  against  the  biting  hunger 
of  that  upper  air ;  if  our  staves  are  well  shod 
with  iron,  against  that  slanting  sea  of  glass, 
up  whose  billows  of  ice  we  shall  have  to  climb : 
if  our  guide-ropes  are  all  stout  and  ready, 
against  the  time  when  none  shall  dare  proceed 
except  he  be  tied  to  the  bold,  experienced 
Guide  Who  goes  before  him. 

And  there  may  be  time  for  one  more  word 
before   we    start ;    one   last    caution    to    each 


216       THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB   OF  LIFE. 

mountain-climber,  which  shall  be  better  to  him 
than  the  food  and  drink  in  his  wallet,  and 
better  than  an  iron-shod  alpenstock,  if  he  will 
say  it  to  himself,  again  and  again  and  again, 
when  the  steepness,  and  the  slipperiness,  and 
the  solitude,  and  the  space,  and  the  roar  of  the 
flying  avalanche,  and  the  heart-searching  frost 
made  him  afraid  :  "  Wait  on  the  Lord ;  be  of 
good  courage,  and  He  shall  strengthen  thine 
heart :  wait,  I  say,  on  the  Lord." 

I  say,  if  he  will  say  it  to  himself.  As  he 
climbs  the  Matterhorn  of  another  year  he  may 
or  he  may  not  be  given  the  chance  to  say  this 
to  anv  other  soul.  If  he  has  the  chance  to 
speak  this  word  of  courage  to  another,  so  much 
the  better  for  that  other  and  for  him  :  but  he 
must  say  it  to  himself  ;  each  must  say  it  for 
himself  to  himself,  and  say  it  often  ;  say  it 
to  his  own  soul  as  if  he  were  speaking  it 
to  another :  "  Wait  on  the  Lord ;  wait,  I  say, 
on  the  Lord."  In  the  Psalm,  these  words  are 
not  an  address  to  others,  they  are  the  words  of 
the  Psalmist  speaking  to  his  own  soul  as  he 
climbs  the  steep  ascent.  They  are  a  soliloquy ; 
a  life  talking  to  itself,  and  telling  itself  how 
and  where  cometh  strength  into  it :  "  Wait 
on  the  Lord ;  be  of  good  courage,  and  He  shall 
strengthen    thine    heart :    wait,  I    say,  on  the 


THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB   OF  LIFE.      217 

Lord."  Herein  is  the  strength  o£  these  words 
for  us  to-day,  —  that  they  are  a  sohloquy ; 
words  wliich  we  may  all  speak  to  ourselves 
now,  and  which  each  one  shall  need  to  say  to 
himself  many,  many  times,  I  believe,  before 
this  mountain-climb  of  the  year  is  over. 

What  means  it,  this  twice-given  reminder  to 
"  wait  on  the  Lord  "  ?  Do  we  catch  any  real 
point  in  the  word  "  wait "  which  is  specially 
strong  and  suggestive  at  this  particular  time  ? 
I  incHne  to  think  that,  when  we  analyze  our 
own  conception  of  the  meaning  of  "  Wait  on 
the  Lord,"  many  of  us  do  not  find  anything 
particularly  clear,  or  particularly  suggestive  of 
courage  and  a  strengthened  heart.  Some  may 
have  thouo'ht  of  "  Wait  on  the  Lord  "  as  mean- 
ino;  about  the  same  thino^  as  "  Wait  for  the 
Lord,"  "  be  patient ; "  but  that  grace  of  pa- 
tience, however  noble  and  sweet  it  is,  is  not 
the  same  as  waiting  on  the  Lord  ;  it  has  not 
the  "  action "  in  it.  And  some  may  have 
thought  of  waiting  on  the  Lord  as  simply 
meaning  prayer  :  "  Continue  in  prayer."  But, 
how^ever  grand  and  true  a  thought  prayer  may 
be,  it  does  not  convey  that  peculiar  charm  of 
meanino[  which  is  reserved  for  us  in  this  word 
"  wait,"  —  a  meaning  which,  when  Hebrew 
study  first  discovered  it  to  me,  and  ever  since. 


218       THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB   OF  LIFE. 

has  opened  in  my  life  a  fresh  fountain  of  joy 
and  strength,  and  has  engraved  upon  my  im- 
agination a  picture  of  aspiring  and  glorious  ac- 
tion. There  are  eleven  different  words  in  the 
Hebrew  tongue  which,  in  our  common  version 
of  the  Old  Testament,  are  translated  by  the  sin- 
gle English  equivalent  "  wait."  All  shades  of 
meaning  which  can  be  attached  to  "  waiting  " 
appear  in  these  eleven  words,  —  the  silence  of 
waiting,  the  earnestness  of  waiting,  the  hope- 
fulness of  waiting,  the  watchfulness  of  waiting, 
the  slavery  or  servitude  of  waiting,  and  others. 
But  when  we  come  to  the  word  nin  we  find 
a  totally  new  conception,  which  leads  us  far 
from  all  these  other  ideas  of  waiting ;  and, 
indeed,  causes  us  to  feel  that  "wait,"  as  we 
commonly  understand  the  word,  is  by  no  means 
the  most  vivid  translation  of  which  the  He- 
brew verb  is  susceptible.  The  root  of  njf^ 
means  a  rope ;  and  the  distinctive  meaning  of 
the  verb  is  to  tie  fast  a  roi^e.  The  two  most 
conspicuous  examples  of  the  use  of  this  par- 
ticular verb  —  meaning,  "  to  tie  fast  a  rope  " 
—  are,  one  of  them,  the  text  for  to-day  :  "  Wait 
on  the  Lord;  be  of  good  courage,  and  He 
shall  strengthen  thine  heart :  wait,  I  say,  on 
the  Lord ; "  and  the  other  is  that  text  in 
Isaiah  which  to  some  of  us  holds  in  itself  the 


THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB   OF  LIFE.      219 

very  essence  of  life's  hope,  —  "  They  that  wait 
upon  the  Lord  shall  renew  their  strength ;  they 
shall  mount  up  with  wings  as  eagles  ;  they 
shall  run  and  not  be  weary,  and  they  shall 
walk  and  not  faint."  ^  If  now,  instead  of  using 
the  general  and  indeterminate  word  "  wait," 
which  is  open  to  many  different  interpreta- 
tions, we  use  the  specific  expression,  "  to  tie 
fast  a  rope  "  (which  gives  the  distinctive  mean- 
ing of  the  Hebrew),  behold  what  a  light,  be- 
hold what  a  blessed  fulness  of  thought,  is 
created  by  these  two  magnificent  texts  of  God's 
word,  —  "  They  that  are  tied  fast  to  the  Lord 
shall  renew  their  strength ;  they  shall  mount 
up  with  wings  as  eagles;  they  shall  run  and 
not  be  weary,  and  they  shall  walk  and  not 
faint."  "  Tie  thyself  fast  to  the  Lord  ;  be  of 
good  courage,  and  He  shall  strengthen  thine 
heart ;  tie  thyself,  I  say,  fast  to  the  Lord." 

As  we  utter  these  words  a  picture  flashes 
before  our  eyes,  and  engraves  itself  upon  the 
imaofination,  —  the  mountain  of  the  Matterhorn 
in  Switzerland,  rising  in  magnificent  propor- 
tions throuofh  chaotic  masses  of  lower  hills, 
and  lifting  its  awful  front  into  the  upper  at- 
mosphere. On  its  sides  are  the  broad  curve 
of  the  glacier  track,  the  jagged  darkness  of 
1  Isa.  xl.  31. 


220       THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB   OF  LIFE. 

the  crevasse,  and  the  glittering  billows  of  the 
slanting  sea  of  ice.  At  the  base  stands  a 
company  of  travellers  and  guides,  about  to 
begin  the  ascent.  They  are  making  their  last 
inventory  of  equipments.  There  are  blankets 
for  the  shelter,  there  are  wallets  filled  with 
meat  and  drink.  There  are  staves  spiked  with 
iron.  "  Is  not  this  enough  ?  "  say  the  ardent 
travellers.  "  Why  be  burdened  with  those 
coils  of  rope  ?  "  And  the  guides,  whose  life- 
training  has  been  upon  the  ice  mountains, 
answer,  with  the  grave  smile  of  experience, 
"  Travellers,  leave  behind  you,  if  you  choose, 
blankets,  wallets,  and  staves,  and  without  them 
you  might  have  dim  chance  of  living  to  go  up ; 
but  leave  not  these  ropes,  which  shall  tie  us  to 
you,  and  you  to  us !  There  are  places  yonder 
where  no  inexperienced  head  could  bear  the 
dizziness,  and  no  inexperienced  heart  could 
surmount  the  terror,  but  for  the  sense  of  secu- 
rity which  this  rope  shall  give,  that  ties  you  to 
your  guide.  He  will  go  before  you  and  lead 
you,  always  upward;  the  drawing  of  this  rope 
will  itself  assure  you  of  the  way ;  the  sense 
that  this  rope  is  around  his  life  as  well  as 
around  your  life  will  brace  you  with  the  feel- 
ing of  companionship,  even  at  that  steepest 
and  most  awful  point  where  he,  being  directly 


THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB   OF  LIFE.       221 

above  you,  cannot  be  seen.  And  if  you  slip, 
if  your  foot  misses  that  *  narrow  notch  hacked 
for  a  footing  in  the  ice,  you  shall  not  be 
dashed  to  pieces  a  thousand  yards  below ;  he 
has  anticipated  that  slip,  - —  has  thrown  his 
strength  upward  against  the  downward  drag, 
and  that  rope,  tightening  like  a  living  bond, 
shall  hold  you  up  from  death." 

So  the  picture  is  before  us,  and  each  sees, 
in  that  glittering  peril  of  the  Matterhorn,  the 
steep  ascent  of  life  as  it  rises  upward  before 
himself,  even  from  this  solemn  hour,  —  up  ! 
up  !  up  !  through  days,  and  weeks,  and  months ; 
and  each  sees  in  the  face  of  a  traveller  his 
own  face ;  and  each  sees  in  the  strong,  earnest, 
loving^  face  of  a  Guide  the  Face  of  Christ. 
And  the  Guide  says  :  "  Leave  anything  behind 
sooner  than  that  bond  with  which  you  can  tie 
yourself  fast  to  Me.  Tie  fast  to  Me,  and  I  will 
strengthen  your  heart :  severed  from  Me,  ye 
can  do  nothing."  ^  And  the  Holy  Spirit,  whis- 
pering the  thought,  which  seems  like  our  own 
thought,  enables  us  to  say  to  ourselves,  in 
most  earnest  soliloquy,  as  we  look  up  the  steep 
ascent,  "  Tie  thyself  fast  to  the  Lord ;  be  of 
good  courage,  and  He  shall  strengthen  thine 
heart :    tie  thyself,  I  say,  fast  to  Christ." 

^  St.  John  XV.  5,  margin. 


222       THE  MOUXTAIN-CLIMB    OF  LIFE. 

Let  us  for  a  moment  stand  looking  up  this 
mountain  of  life,  and  consider  what  it  means 
to  be  tied  fast  to  Christ,  with  a  bond  that 
encircles  our  life  and  encircles  His  Life,  and 
stretches  from  Him  to  us. 

It  means  for  us,  as  for  the  climber  on  the 
Matterhorn,  Leadership.  If  you  have  ever 
climbed  a  steej3  and  dangerous  mountain  you 
Avill  understand  how  nothing  is  easier  than  to 
be  bewildered  and  to  lose  the  way  on  a  per- 
fectly open,  treeless  mountain.  The  tremen- 
dous angle  of  elevation  prevents  you  from  look- 
ing far  above  you,  and  the  perils  which  attend 
every  placing  of  a  hand  or  of  a  foot  demand 
your  eyes  and  your  thought  on  every  foot  of 
ground  immediately  before  your  face.  What 
leadership,  then,  is  in  the  dramng  of  that  rope, 
as  the  guide,  knowing  well  his  path,  turns  here 
and  there,  and  the  rope  pulls  now  to  right 
and  now  to  left !  You  can  follow  without  look- 
in  of.  You  do  not  ask  to  see  the  distant  scene. 
While  the  drawing  of  that  rope  continues,  "  one 
step  enough  for  you !  "  Ah,  he  who  ties  fast 
to  Christ  has  that  leadership  !  Life  is  too  steep 
for  us  to  see  far  above  the  point  at  which  we 
stand,  and  the  needs  and  perils  of  the  instant 
compel  to  a  great  extent  the  localization  o£ 
thouo'ht  on  immediate  incidents  and  decisions, 


THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB   OF  LIFE.       223 

without  much  leno^th  of  view.  But  tied  to 
Christ  we  are  drawn,  most  marvellously  drawn, 
up  the  right  path ;  and  each  step  we  take, 
though  we  can  see  so  little  beyond  it,  is  a 
step  in  the  right  direction. 

To  tie  fast  to  Christ  means  for  us,  as  for 
the  climber  on  the  Matterhorn,  Companion- 
ship. We  may  not  see  Him,  because  He  is  so 
directly  above  us  ;  but  we  hear  the  Upward 
Calling,  and  we  feel  the  Upward  Drawing,  and 
the  electric  current  of  His  Strength  flows  down 
into  our  weakness,  and  we  are  of  good  cour= 
age,  for  He  has  strengthened  our  heart.  Oh, 
how  mysterious  and  how  precious  is  that  sense 
of  companionship^  which  it  becomes  possible 
for  us  to  have  with  an  unseen  and  absent 
friend,  if  we  are  conscious  that  one  bond  of 
unconquerable  remembrance  and  unity  encir- 
cles both  our  lives  and  reaches  from  one  to  the 
other !  We  are  not  alone,  —  we  cannot  be 
alone  !  Greater  even  than  this  is  that  reassur- 
ing truth  of  Companionship  given  in  hours  of 
peril,  of  vague  depression,  of  unsupportable 
fatigue,  to  those  who  are  tied  fast  to  Christ. 
Through  the  comfort  of  sacraments,  and  the 
tender  joy  of  prayer,  and  the  marvellous  direct- 
ness of  the  Word,  and  the  treasures  of  memory, 
there  come,  as  through  the  guide-rope  of  the 


224       THE   MOUNTAIN-CLIMB    OF  LIFE. 

Alpine  climber,  bracing  assurances  from  Him 
Who  has  gone  on  ahead. 

To  tie  fast  to  Christ  means  for  us,  as  for 
the  clunber  on  the  Matterhorn,  Kescue.  Even 
he  whose  face  is  set  upward  may  make  the 
false  step.  Benumbed  by  cold,  unbalanced  by 
nervous  tension,  terrified  by  stupendous  peril, 
he  may  set  his  foot  unsteadily  in  the  socket 
cut  for  him  by  his  guide.  And  he  may  slip ! 
But  all  is  not  lost.  A  strength  above  his 
own,  and  joined  to  his  own,  has  foreseen  and 
prepared  itself  for  this  shock;  and  the  rope 
is  strong  enough  to  bear  him,  even  when 
hanging  in  utter  dependence.  And  he  who  is 
tied  to  Christ  may  in  an  unguarded  hour  fal- 
ter and  sHp.  But  all  is  not  lost :  "  Though 
he  fall,  he  shall  not  be  utterly  cast  down."  ^ 
He  hangs  in  utter  dependence  upon  the  mercy 
of  Christ ;  but  the  bond  is  strong,  and  saves 
him  from  death,  and  sets  his  feet  upon  the 
rock  once  more. 

"  Be  of  good  courage,  and  He  shall  strengthen 
thine  heart. ^' 

If  the  traveller  should  insist  on  leaving  the 
guide-rope  behind,  —  should  say  to  the  guide, 
''  My  staff  and  my  wallet  are  enough  for  me  ; 
go  you  on  and  I  will  follow,"  —  he  might  say, 

1  Ps.  xxxvii.  24. 


THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB    OF  LIFE.       225 

indeed,  to  his  own  heart,  '^  Be  o£  good  cour- 
age," but  would  the  words  mean  much  more 
than  emptiness  by  the  side  o£  the  perils  of  the 
Matterhorn  ?  Would  they  not  rather  show 
that  he  had  no  conception  of  those  perils,  — 
no  conception  of  the  tests  of  courage  which  he 
must  meet  ?  So  it  seems  of  those  who  talk 
of  climbing  this  dread  mystery  of  years  apart 
from  any  living  bond  tying  them  fast  to  Jesus 
Christ,  who  say  to  Christ :  "  Go  You  on  ahead 
as  an  Example.  I  will  follow  You ;  but  I  do 
not  need  You,  and  I  will  not  be  tied  to  You. 
My  staff  is  enough  for  me ;  I  will  choose  my 
path,  and  keep  up  my  courage."  What  do 
such  words  show  but  that  they  who  utter  them 
have  failed  to  comprehend  the  height  of  the 
mountain  and  the  hardness  of  the  way  ? 

Let  him  who  thinks  to  climb  the  Matterhorn 
with  no  rope  tying  him  to  his  guide,  and  who, 
repudiating  that  bond,  still  says  to  his  own 
heart  "  Be  of  good  courage,"  let  him  count  up 
some  of  the  tests  that  he  must  stand  in  going 
up  the  mountain.  What  are  the  characteristic 
tests  of  courage  in  the  greater  efforts  of  moun- 
tain-climbino;?  There  is  the  loneliness.  There 
is  probably  no  solitude  on  the  earth  which 
under  certain  circumstances  is  so  crushing  and 
saddening  as  the  solitude  in  a  place  of   peril 


226       THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB   OF  LIFE. 

on  a  great  mountain.  It  is  indeed  awful !  Not 
a  bird  chirps,  not  a  leaf  rustles.  You  might 
call  and  no  one  would  answer  you ;  you  might 
fall  and  lie  gi-oaning,  no  one  would  run  to 
you ;  you  might  die,  no  one  would  bury  you. 
It  is  a  tremendous  test  of  courage.  But  there 
is  greater  loneliness,  and  more  exhausting  de- 
pression, for  those  who  wander  on  the  Mat- 
terhorn  of  life  alone.  To  some  natures,  this 
terrible,  hungering  lonehness  comes  most  over- 
whelmingly in  the  days  of  youth  ;  and  if  the 
young  heart  be  not  tied  to  that  only  siire 
Guide,  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  it  is  likely  to 
lose  all  courage,  and  perhaps  to  go  far  astray. 
There  is  a  wonderful  passage  in  one  of  the 
letters  of  Lacordaire  which  describes,  as  I 
have  never  elsewhere  heard  it  described,  that 
nameless,  lonely  longing  of  youth.  Every 
time  I  read  that  passage  I  say  to  myself  : 
"  How  true  that  is !  he  must  have  known." 
He  says :  "  Eighteen  years  have  barely  passed 
over  us  before  we  begin  to  experience  long- 
ings whose  object  is  neither  the  flesh,  nor 
love  nor  ambition  ;  nothing,  in  short,  that 
can  take  shape  or  name.  Wandering,  whether 
in  lonely  solitudes,  or  amid  the  splendid  streets 
of  great  cities,  the  youth  is  weighed  dovrn  by 
objectless  aspiration  :  he  turns  from  the  real- 


THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB   OF  LIFE.      227 

ities  of  life  as  from  a  prison  which  stifles  his 
heart ;  he  seeks  from  all  that  is  vaguest,  most 
uncertain,  —  from  the  evening  clouds,  the  au- 
tumn winds,  the  fallen  leaves,  —  sensations 
which  feed  while  they  wound  him.  But  all 
in  vain ;  the  clouds  disperse,  the  winds  lull, 
the  leaves  decay,  without  telling  him  where- 
fore he  sufPers,  without  satisfying  his  soul. 
0  my  soul,  why  art  thou  cast  down  ?  Hope 
in  God  ?  Yes,  it  is  God ;  it  is  the  Infinite, 
stirring  in  our  twenty-year-old  hearts,  which 
Christ  has  touched,  but  which  have  carelessly 
strayed  from  Him,  and  in  which  His  precious 
grace,  failing  to  produce  its  supernatural  influ- 
ence, now  stirs  the  storm  which  it  alone  can 
lull."  ' 

Another  peril  of  the  Matterhorn  is  cold  ;  the 
silent,  deadly,  stupefying  frost,  deadening  the 
brain  as  with  opiates,  relaxing  the  limbs,  para- 
lyzing the  will,  —  death  to  him  who  is  not  tied 
to  his  guide.  Spiritual  death  to  him  who  is 
not  tied  to  Jesus  Christ,  when  the  coldness  and 
apathy  of  one's  environment  strike  to  the  inner 
being  of  him  who  began,  in  all  sincerity,  to  try 
for  the  Upward  Life.  "Be  of  good  courage," 
he  whispers  drowsily  to  himself ;  "I  can  shake 
this  off,  and  in  my  will-power  rise  above  it;" 
^  S.  Lear's  Laeordaire,  p.  30. 


228       THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB    OF  LIFE. 

and  even  as  he  whispers  he  falls  and  sleeps 
the  sleep  of  death.  Oh,  the  warm  Strength 
of  Christ !  the  Vigor  of  Christ !  the  irresistible 
Upwardness  of  Christ !  That  only  can  pull  us 
together,  and  pull  us  upward  from  the  languor 
of  a  frozen  life  1 

Another  peril  of  the  Matterhorn  is  the  alti- 
tude. As  we  enter  the  greater  heights  the  air 
grows  thin,  the  pressure  augments,  the  heart 
pumps  like  an  engine,  the  lungs  draw  like 
furnaces.  Oh,  what  a  rest  to  strain  that  rope 
a  little,  and  let  liim  who  is  used  to  travelling 
in  this  air  pull  us  with  his  strength  !  And 
when  the  hours  come,  as  they  are  sure  to  come, 
when  the  pressure  of  living  makes  a  labor  of 
existence,  when  the  heart  is  strained  to  burst- 
ing, v\^ho  knows  best  what  relief  is  ?  who  has 
the  better  chance  to  escape  collapse  ?  —  he  who 
only  knows  how  to  clench  his  teeth  and  pant  in 
desperation  to  himself,  "  Be  of  good  courage  ;  " 
or  he  who  can  test  the  strenofth  of  the  bond 
that  ties  him  to  Christ,  who  can  draw  upon 
Christ's  Strength  and  Christ's  Onwardness,  say- 
ing to  himself,  "  Be  of  good  courage,  and  He 
shall  streno-then  thine  heart  "  ? 

Another  peril  of  the  Matterhorn  is  the  ava- 
lanche. Thunder  without  lightning ;  a  volley 
of    icy  stones ;    a    hissing  streak  of   impacted 


THE  MOUNTAIN-CLIMB   OF  LIFE.       229 

snow  —  there  I  here  !  there  !  Gone  !  All  is 
over,  —  over  before  we  know  what  has  hap- 
pened or  why,  as  with  a  cruel  jerk,  the  guide 
fluno'  us  under  the  lee  of  the  boulder.  But 
he  gently  Hfts  us  up,  his  face  all  grave  and 
tender,  saying,  ''  I  saw  it  coming.  It  would 
have  killed  you.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  throw  you  (roughly,  perhaps,  but  quickly) 
under  the  shadow  of  the  rock  till  the  ava- 
lanche went  by."  Blessed  is  he  who  is  tied 
to  Christ  when  the  avalanche  comes.  Christ 
will  not  stop  it,  nor  turn  it  aside  from  our 
path  ;  but  He  foresees  it,  and  if  we  are  only 
so  joined  to  Him  that  He  can  act  upon  us, 
He  will  draw  us  into  the  cleft  of  the  Rock, 
into  the  shadow  of  the  mio;htv  Rock,  till  this 
calamity  is  overpast. 

Another  peril  of  the  Matterhorn  is  the  false 
step.  He  cuts  the  sockets  in  the  ice,  and  sets 
His  Feet  in  them.  We,  clambering  after  Him, 
set  ours  where  He  set  His,  till  in  a  dizzy  mo- 
ment the  foot  is  set  unsteadily,  —  slips.  Is  all 
over  ?  Shall  the  shepherds  in  the  springtime 
find  the  ^Teck  a  thousand  yards  below?  It 
uiio'ht  have  been.  God  knows  it  mio-ht  have 
been,  but  for  that  dear  bond  that  tied  us  to 
Him,  —  that  was  strong,  that  held,  —  and  His 
Streng-th  was  made  perfect  in  our  weakness. 


230       THE   MOUNTAIN-CLIMB    OF   LIFE. 

"  Saviour,  where'er  Thy  steps  I  see, 
Dauntless,  untired,  I  follow  Thee  ; 
Oh,  let  Thy  Hand  support  me  still, 
And  lead  me  to  Thy  Holy  Hill." 

And  so  we  come  right  back  to  that  pomt : 
Tie  thyself  fast  to  Christ.  Tie  thyself,  I  say, 
fast  to  Christ.  Then  be  of  good  courage,  and 
He  shall  strengfthen  thine  heart.  Severed  from 
Him,  courage  is  bravado,  and  to  essay  the 
mountain  is  to  tempt  Providence.  Tied  to 
Him  by  the  bands  of  an  unquestioning  faith. 
He  will  lead  thee  up,  and  He  will  give  His  Holy 
Spirit  charge  concerning  thee,  to  bear  thee  up 
in  His  Hands,  lest  at  any  time  thou  dash  thy 
foot  against  a  stone.     Amen. 


XIV. 

CHRIST'S   KNOWLEDGE   OF  OUR  SIN- 
CERITY. 


XIV. 

CHRIST'S   KNOWLEDGE   OF  OUR  SIN- 
CERITY. 

"Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee."—  St.  John  xxi.  17. 

The  sweetest,  strongest  thouglit  a  man  can 
hold  in  his  heart  as  he  faces  hfe's  responsibili- 
ties is  this  :  Christ's  knowledge  of  our  sincerity. 
"  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee."  It  is  not 
good  for  man  to  be  alone.  It  is  not  good  be- 
cause it  is  not  normal.  Self-consciousness,  the 
power  to  know  one's  self,  is  but  half  of  per- 
sonality. The  other  half  is  communion,  the 
power  to  know  another  in  love  and  trust.  He 
that  has  never  loved  has  never  hved.  "  He 
that  loveth  not,  knoweth  not  God,  for  God  is 
love."^ 

Love  is  an  expressive  function  ;  it  implies  an 
object  exterior  to  itself,  Avithout  which  love  is 
inconceivable.  Love  is  potential  communion  ; 
communion  in  the  wish  if  not  in  the  fact.  Not 
so  ambition  :  ambition  may  be  strictly  self -lim- 
ited, self-centralized,  introactive.     The  man  of 

1  1  Jno.  iv.  8. 


234       CHRIST  KNOWS   OUR   SINCERITY. 

ambition  may  care  but  for  himself  ;  the  man  of 
affection  is,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  up  to  his 
own  measure,  whatever  it  may  be,  an  expressive, 
self -giving  life. 

Expression  is  the  language  of  love  :  it  is 
love's  vernacular.  But  powers  and  opportuni- 
ties of  expression  are  variable  quantities ;  may 
sometimes,  in  rare,  golden  hours,  be  commen- 
surate with  that  emotion  of  which  they  seek  to 
be  the  vehicles ;  may  oftener,  by  reason  of 
weakness  and  fear,  be  dwarfish  and  barren ; 
love  rising  to  its  highest  level  of  nobleness ; 
expression  perversely  dwindhng  to  a  common- 
place. 

In  such  an  hour  love  has  still  a  refuge.  Ex- 
pression has  been  tried  and  found  wanting. 
Dumb  when  it  would  be  all  speech  ;  common- 
place when  it  would  be  glorious ;  trite,  feeble, 
faulty  when  it  would  have  uttered  the  unutter- 
able, —  love  has  still  a  refuge  :  "  Thou  knowest 
that  I  love  Thee."  Rising  from  earth-bound 
powers,  from  stammering  and  stunted  words, 
from  feeble  self -justifications,  from  plaintive 
apologies,  love  leaps  to  its  heroic  ultimatum : 
"  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee." 

So  Simon  Peter  stood  before  his  Risen  Lord  ; 
and  thrice  that  awful  inquisition  tore  its  way, 
like  a  relentless  search-light,  through  the  shad- 


CHRIST  KNOWS   OUR   SINCERITY.       235 

ows  and  failures  of  his  life  :  "  Simon,  son  of 
Jonas,  lovest  thou  Me?"  What  could  he  say? 
could  he  appeal  to  his  record,  and  offer  it  in 
evidence  as  a  demonstration  of  his  love  ?  Ah  ! 
should  he  try  to  speak  of  this,  the  memory  of 
his  own  failures  would  choke  him,  the  stains 
on  his  record  would  silence  him.  For  he  has  as 
his  portion  a  full  share  of  the  hitter  memories 
of  an  undisciplined  character ;  immature  pro- 
fessions of  fidelity,  neutrahzed  over  and  over 
again  by  unbalanced  words,  by  jealous,  pre- 
sumptuous, unspiritual  deeds ;  and  upon  him 
is  even  now  the  fresh  blight  of  that  immeasur- 
able error  when,  unmanned  by  excitement,  his 
very  life,  as  he  stood  in  the  high  priest's  pal- 
ace, had  seemed  to  break  uj)  under  him,  as  the 
ice  breaks  up  in  the  spring  freshet,  and,  heed- 
less of  consequences,  lost  to  honor,  he  had  repu- 
diated his  Master  in  the  open  presence  of  men/ 
Yes,  what  could  he  say,  as  the  search-hght 
of  the  Saviour's  inquisition  ploughs  its  way 
through  the  shadows  of  his  life :  "  Simon,  son 
of  Jonas,  lovest  thou  Me  ?  "  Could  he  appeal 
to  his  companions  to  speak  for  him,  and  testify 
on  his  behalf  ?  Had  they  not  known  all  the 
weakness  of  the  undisciphned  past,  —  the  lapse 
from  faith  \vhen  called  by  Jesus  to  walk  on  the 
1  St.  Jno.  xviii.  15-27. 


236        CHRIST  KNOWS    OUR   SINCERITY. 

water  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee  ;  ^  the  jealous  con- 
tention over  who  should  be  the  greatest ;  ^  the 
presumptuous,  unseemly  rebuke  spoken  to  Je- 
sus at  the  Last  Suj)per ;  ^  the  drowsy  failure  in 
Gethsemane,  when  the  one  request  of  the  ago- 
nizing Jesus  went  unheeded,  and  sleep  de- 
stroyed the  vigil  of  sympathy  for  which  Christ 
longed  ?  ^  Had  they  not  known  the  story  of 
the  last  desertion,  —  its  desperate,  threefold  in- 
sistence, its  cowardice,  its  profanity  ?  ^  How 
then  could  he  ask  them  to  testify,  when  so 
much  in  the  open  story  of  his  life  spoke  against 
his  love  for  Jesus  ? 

Yet,  in  the  face  of  these  memories  of  an  un- 
disciplined character  which  forbade  the  appeal 
to  his  record  and  the  appeal  to  his  friends,  this 
man  has  still  a  refuge,  for  he  is  a  lover  of 
Christ.  The  Saviour's  question  does  not  con- 
vict this  man  of  insincerity,  however  it  may 
convict  him  of  inconsistency  and  pierce  him 
with  penitence.  "  Lovest  thou  Me  ? "  The 
words,  in  themselves  so  gentle,  are  keen  as  a 
surgeon's  knife,  piercing  even  to  the  dividing 
asunder  of  soul  and  spirit,  and  of  the  joints 
and  marrow,  laying  bare  the  thoughts  and  in- 

1  St.  Matt.  xiv.  28-31.  ^  St.  Lk.  xxii.  24-31. 

3  St.  Jno.  xiii.  4-9.  4  St.  Mk.-  xiv.  37. 

5  St.  Mk.  xiv.  71. 


CHRIST  KNOWS   OUR   SINCERITY.       237 

tents  of  the  heart ;  but,  Hke  the  surgeon's 
knife  upon  the  living  subject,  the  pain  they 
cause  shows  there  is  Hfe  and  not  death.  "  Lov- 
est  thou  Me  ?  "  It  is  an  appeal,  not  to  his  rec- 
ord, but  to  himself ;  not  to  his  witnesses,  but 
to  himself ;  and  the  appeal  is  answered  in  the 
depths  of  the  man's  self-consciousness.  He 
cannot  deny  his  record  ;  there  it  stands,  fraught 
with  inconsistencies,  failures,  weakness  ;  he  can- 
not, it  may  be,  overcome  the  prejudice  in  the 
minds  of  others  which  these  inconsistencies, 
failures,  weaknesses  may  have  excited  against 
him  ;  but  in  those  depths  of  self-consciousness, 
where  he  knows  liimself  as  no  fellow-man  can 
know  him,  there  is  that  which  meets  the  ques- 
tion of  Jesus,  ''  Lovest  thou  Me  ?  "  wdth  an  un- 
faltering "  Yes."  How  shall  he  substantiate 
and  prove  that  love  ?  He  cannot  prove  it  from 
his  record,  blemished  and  discolored  with  many 
a  failure ;  he  cannot  prove  it  from  the  vouch- 
ers of  his  friends,  for  they  know  too  well  how 
again  and  again  he  has  been  weighed  in  the 
balance  of  trial  and  found  wanting.  He  can- 
not prove  it  by  plaintive  attempts  to  apologize 
for  or  to  minimize  past  failures.  An  intuition 
tells  him  that  were  to  weaken,  not  to  strengthen, 
his  case.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  cannot 
deny  himself ;  he  cannot  discredit  his  own  self- 


238       CHRIST  KNOWS   OUR  SINCERITY, 

consciousness.  Within  him  is  that  which  to 
the  Saviour's  question,  "  Lovest  thou  Me?" 
returns  an  unfaltering  "  Yes."  In  his  self- 
consciousness  he  knows  that  he  loves  Christ. 
And  to  prove  that  love  he  has  still  one  refuge, 
one  appeal  left,  —  the  appeal  to  Him  before 
Whom  he  now  stands  face  to  face,  and  from 
Whom  has  come  the  question,  "  Lovest  thou 
Me  ?  "  So  love  leaps  to  its  heroic  ultimatum, 
and  discarding  arguments,  apologies,  and  ref- 
uges of  words,  appeals  to  Him  "  to  Whom 
all  hearts  are  open,  all  desires  known,  and  from 
Whom  no  secrets  are  hid ;  "  "  Thou  knowest 
all  things  ;  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee." 
"  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee."  It  is  a 
blessed  hour  for  the  Christian  when  he  real- 
izes that  he  does  possess  this  last  and  greatest 
refuge  of  love,  this  final  court  of  appeal : 
Christ's  knowledge  of  our  sincerity.  For,  as 
we  attempt  to  live  our  lives  in  the  world  to-day, 
expressing  the  best  that  we  "know,  most  of  us 
encounter  profound  discouragements.  We  en- 
counter, to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  that  pre- 
vailing sentiment  of  modern  life  which  may  be 
called  scepticism  of  character.  Scepticism  ex- 
ercises itself  by  no  means  exclusively  upon  God 
and  the  Word  of  God.  In  an  age  like  this, 
severely  critical  and  severely  competitive,  men 


CHRIST  KNOWS   OUR   SINCERITY.      239 

doubt  each  other  as  intuitively  as  they  clouht 
God,  and  scepticism  of  character  pervades  so- 
ciety. I  am  sure  I  simply  state  a  fact,  which 
must  have  been  observed  by  every  person  of 
experience,  in  stating  that  this  is  in  no  sense 
a  confiding  age.  The  spirit  of  the  world  is  a 
spirit  of  alertness,  ready  at  any  instant  and 
in  any  quarter  to  ripen  into  suspicion.  Scep- 
ticism of  character  is  openly  declared  by  many 
to  be  a  qualification  for  success.  To  be  on 
one's  guard  against  others  is  become  a  canon 
of  business.  Professions  of  sincerity  are  not 
ranked  at  a  high  valuation ;  and  apart  from 
e^ddence,  the  name  of  Christian  is  not  held  to 
guarantee  character. 

In  attempting  to  live  our  lives  in  the  world 
to-dav,  expressing  the  best  that  we  know,  we 
encounter  the  difficulty  of  making  our  truest 
self  intelHgible  to  others.  There  are  so  many 
conventional  restrictions  to  prevent  the  expla- 
nation of  motives,  there  is  such  pressure  and 
haste  of  li\'ino^  burdenino^  the  life  of  almost 
everv  one,  there  is  such  a  tangled  network  of 
opinions  lying  upon  the  face  of  society,  it  is 
indeed  difficult  to  make  one's  self  intelligible. 
Motives  which  to  us  are  clear  as  the  day  are 
to  others  dubious  or  uninteUigible ;  conduct 
which  to  us  appears  to  utter  one  thing,  to  an- 


240       CHRIST  KNOWS   OUR  SINCERITY. 

other  appears  to  utter  the  opposite  ;  till  to  ex- 
plain one's  self  becomes  one  of  the  fine  arts  of 
living. 

In  attempting  to  live,  we  are  often  spoil- 
ing our  own  work  by  incongruous  temper,  or 
incongruous  conduct.  We  misrepresent  our- 
selves oftener  than  others  misrepresent  us.  It 
is  our  own  foibles,  our  own  blemishes  of  temper, 
our  own  false  steps,  which  help  to  make  our  lives 
an  enigma  to  others.  It  is  with  our  own  fool- 
ish hand  the  interrogation-point  is  often  dashed 
in  after  life's  most  earnest  utterances.  These 
are  tremendous  discouragements,  silencing  dis- 
couragements. They  sometimes  shake  courage 
to  its  foundations ;  they  fill  the  heart  with  bit- 
terness and  agitation ;  they  scatter  the  tender 
uprisings  of  holy  purpose,  and  throw  us  back 
in  confusion  and  sorrow.  We  feel  that  others 
doubt  us,  look  askance  at  us,  point  at  us  be- 
hind our  backs,  or  smile  with  scepticism  over 
our  confession  of  faith  in  Jesus  Christ  and  our 
vows  of  discipleship.  And  the  sting  of  this 
bitterness  is  in  the  thouofht  that  we  are  discred- 
iting  a  deeper  selfhood  which,  beneath  these 
variabilities  of  temper,  these  inconsistencies  of 
speech  and  conduct,  these  futile  attempts  at 
self-expression,  is  after  all  the  greatest  and  the 
truest  part  of  us.    We  know  that  we  are  sound 


CHRIST  KNOWS   OUR   SINCERITY.       241 

at  the  core ;  we  know  that  when,  through  all 
the  shadows  of  fault  and  deficiency,  Christ's 
great  question,  "  Lovest  thou  Me?"  searches 
down  into  our  depths,  there  is  that  which  gives 
back  the  unfaltering  answer,  "  Yes."  But  can 
we  demonstrate  this  love  so  that  it  will  be  be- 
lieved? Can  w^e  find  anywhere  a  basis  for  a 
new  beginning  in  which  our  confidence,  shaken 
by  failure  and  misunderstanding,  can  once  more 
lift  itself  up  into  joy  ?  Blessed  is  he  who  real- 
izes in  such  an  hour  that  he  still  has  left  love's 
last  and  greatest  refuge,  Christ's  knowledge  of 
our  sincerity.  "  Thou  knowest  that  I  love 
Thee."  Whatever  my  own  poor,  faulty  words 
and  ways  may  say  to  others,  awakening  in  their 
minds  doubt  of  my  sincerity  ;  whatever  the  ver- 
dict of  others  may  be  concerning  me ;  what- 
ever my  own  memory  holds  up  before  me  of 
inconsistency  and  error,  —  "  Thou  knowest  that 
I  love  Thee." 

"  Thou  knowest  all  things.  Thou  knowest 
that  I  love  Thee."  As  we  dwell  upon  this  an- 
swer of  Simon  Peter  to  the  Eisen  Lord,  some 
great  thoughts  come  from  it  and  speak  to  us 
who  are  Christians. 

It  speaks  to  us  of  the  forgiveness  of  sins. 
There  is  such  a  thin 2^  as  a  life  enterinof  into 
closest  union  with  the  Risen  Lord  only  through 


242       CHRIST  KXOWS   OUR   SIXCERITY. 

the  mystery  of  forgiven  sin.  That  was  a  won- 
drous parable  spoken  by  the  Master  to  another 
Simon ;  let  us  hear  it :  "  There  was  a  certain 
creditor  which  had  two  debtors ;  the  one  owed 
five  hundred  pence,  the  other  fifty,  and  when 
they  had  nothing  to  pay,  he  frankly  forgave 
them  both.  Tell  Me,  therefore,  which  of  -them 
will  love  him  most  ?  Simon  answered  and  said, 
I  suppose  that  he,  to  whom  he  forgave  most. 
And  Jesus  said.  Thou  hast  rightly  judged."  ^ 
And  I  suppose  that  the  life  which  says  with 
deepest  meaning,  "  Thou  knowes^  ^^  at  I  love 
Thee,"  the  life  in  which  love  ^^^  ^^uist  is  a 
sentiment  so  deep  it  cannot  ei'^P^^i^  i»self  in 
words,  but  can  only  appeal  t^  Christy  own 
knowledge  of  its  sincerity,  is  ^^^^  ^fe  that 
most  fully  realizes  how  it  has  tried  the  patience 
of  Christ  by  the  shortcomings  ^^  an*^  un- 
disciplined character;  how  it  has  <iisappc mted 
the  expectations  of  Christ  by  wea^^ess  A-vhen 
He  wanted  strength,  by  denial  when  He 
wanted  brave  and  loving  acknow^dgmc^^.nt ; 
and  how  over  all  its  long  years  t^  incr'om- 
pleteness  Jesus  has  spread  the  covering  of 
His  forgiveness.  Yes,  through  the  mystery 
and  the  marvel  of  the  forgiveness  of  our  sins, 
through  His  patience,  through  the  sorrow  on 
1  St.  Lk.  vii.  40-o0. 


CHRIST  KNOWS   OUR   SINCERITY.       243 

His  Face  as  He  turns  and  looks  upon  us  when 
in  the  fever  of  temptation  we  are  denying  Him, 
Jesus  knits  us  to  Himself  ;  till,  though  we  still 
are  failing  and  still  are  faltering,  we  become 
conscious  of  a  love  for  Him  answering  His 
Own,  and  revealing  itself  as  the  deepest  and 
truaet  thing  in  our  nature. 

"  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee."  It  speaks 
to  us  of  the  true  depths  of  fellowship.  "  Thou 
knowest "  :  it  is  the  sweet  release  from  the  bon- 
dage of  verbal  explanation.  To  the  stranger 
we  must  speak  guardedly,  lest  we  say  too  much 
or  too  little  ;  we  must  explain  ourselves,  lest  he 
misconstrue  our  meaning ;  we  must  call  in  our 
witnesses,  lest  he  doubt  our  words ;  we  must 
plead  earnestly  in  our  own  defence,  lest  he 
question  our  sincerity.  To  the  casual  guest 
w^e  must  utter  the  gracious  words  of  courtesy, 
lest  he  think  us  rude ;  must  fill  up  the  mo- 
ments with  ready  speech,  lest  he  call  us  dull. 
To  Jesus  we  say?  "  Thou  knowest,"  and  feel 
that  in  saying  that  we  have  said  all.  "  Thou 
knowest !  "  It  is  the  word  of  perfect  under- 
standing ;  explanations  would  weaken  the  elo- 
quence of  such  love.  "  Thou  knowest !  "  It  is 
the  word  of  perfect  rest.  "  He  will  rest  in  His 
love."  ^  It  is  the  word  of  the  Christian  when 
worn  out  with  fruitless  work :  "  Master,  I  have 

1  Zeph.  iii.  17. 


244       CHRIST  KNOWS   OUR  SINCERITY.' 

toiled  all  day,  all  night,  and  gained  nothing, 
but  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee."  ''  Thou 
knowest  "is  a  pillow  for  an  aching  head,  a 
cordial  for  a  fainting  spirit,  a  sanctuary  for 
a  hunted  and  frightened  heart.  Such  is  the 
union  which  a  life  may  realize  with  the  Risen 
Lord.  Not  a  relationship  of  bondage,  a§  of 
master  and  servant :  "  Henceforth  I  call  you 
not  servants,  for  the  servant  knoweth  not  what 
his  lord  doeth ;  but  I  have  called  you  friends, 
for  all  things  that  I  have  heard  of  My  Father 
I  have  made  known  unto  you."  ^  Not  a  rela- 
tionship of  distant,  ceremonial  worship,  but  a 
life  of  tenderest  fellowship,  wherein  the  vicis- 
situdes of  days  and  years  do  but  bind  us  more 
closely  to  that  faithful,  beloved  Friend.  We 
grow  old  along  with  Him.  He  stood  by  us 
when  we  were  children.  He  walked  beside  us  in 
those  freer,  lighter  days  ;  He  walks  beside  us 
now,  when  responsibility  like  a  cross  is  laid 
upon  us,  when  weariness  is  oftener  with  us, 
when  broader  thoughts  and  larger  works  are 
calling  us,  when  thickening  clouds  of  impend- 
ing storm  are  piling  up  before  us ;  with  us  still, 
with  us  always,  on  and  on.  And  in  every  new 
experience,  in  every  new  temptation,  in  hours 
of  strength,  in  hours  of  contrition,  still  we  say 
to  Him  those  same  words  of  the  deeper,  hoher 

^  St.  Jno.  XV.  15. 


CHRIST  KNOWS    OUR   SINCERITY.       245 

fellowship,  "  Thou  knowest  all  thmgs.     Thou 
knowest  that  I  love  Thee." 

"  Thou  knowest,  uot  alone  as  God,  All-knowing  ; 

As  Man,  our  mortal  weakness  Thou  hast  proved  ; 
On  earth,  with  purest  sympathies  o'erflowing, 

O  Saviour,  Thou  hast  wept  and  Thou  hast  loved; 
And  love  and  sorrow  still  to  Thee  may  come, 

And  find  a  hiding-place,  a  rest,  a  home."  i 

"Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee."  It 
speaks  to  us  of  Christ's  knowledge  of  our  bet- 
ter self.  Day  by  day  we  struggle  to  explain 
ourselves,  to  live  intelligibly,  to  utter  the  best 
that  is  in  us.  In  vain !  short  successes  alter- 
nate with  swift  failures.  The  very  words  and 
deeds  by  wdiich  w^e  w^ould  explain  ourselves 
become  in  our  faulty  hands  like  masks  and 
disguises.  The  unreality  of  Hving  grows  in- 
supportable. Sometimes  it  seems  as  if  lives 
were  simply  stumbling  against  one  another  in 
the  dark,  so  few  understand  us,  so  few  do  we 
understand.  We  appear  at  our  w^orst  in  j^er- 
verse  hours  when  we  would  have  shown  our 
best;  we  talk  commonplaces  when  w^e  would 
have  spoken  the  very  secrets  of  God ;  we  wound 
the  friend  we  sought  to  help,  we  grieve  the 
life  we  sought  to  cheer.  We  weep  with  vexa- 
tion over  days  that  are  mere  comedies  of  errors, 
or  deserts  of  dulness.  The  eternal,  the  glori- 
ous relief  from  all  this  is  Christ's  knowledge  of 
1  Miss  Borthwick  and  Mrs.  Findlater. 


246       CHRIST  KNOWS   OUR   SINCERITY. 

our  better  self.  Jesus  knows.  He  sees  the 
glorious  purpose  which  by  some  flash  o£  temper 
or  by  some  maladroit  word  we  nullified  this 
very  morning.  He  realizes  and  accepts  the 
heaven-soaring  prayer  which  potentially  filled 
our  spirit  when,  under  the  drowning  surge  of 
weariness,  we  could  pant  forth  but  one  breath- 
less ejaculation.  He  measures  the  celestial 
ideal  of  living,  which  like  a  city  of  gold  flashes 
continually  before  our  ambition,  and  fails  con- 
tinually before  our  blundering  life.  He  knows 
us  not  only  as  we  are,  but  as  we  mean  to  be. 

"  All  instincts  immature, 
All  purposes  unsure, 
That  weighed  not  as  his  work,  yet  swelled  the  man's  amount ; 

"  Thoughts  hardly  to  be  packed 
Into  a  narroAV  act ; 
Fancies  that  broke  through  language  and  escaped  ; 
All  I  could  never  be. 
All  men  ignored  in  me,  — 
This  I  was  worth  to  God,  Whose  wheel  the  pitcher  shaped."  ^ 

Thou  knowest  all  things  ;  all  the  secret  of 
the  Father,  all  the  counsel  of  the  Spirit,  all  the 
life  of  angels,  all  the  scrolls  of  eternity :  but 
of  all  Thy  boundless  knowledge,  this  only  gives 
me  courage  to  come  to  Thee,  and  o£Per  Thee 
this  day  my  faulty  life :  —  0  blessed  Saviour, 
"  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee."     Amen. 

1  Robert  Browning  :  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra. 


XV. 

THE   RETROSPECT  OF  TRIAL. 


XY. 

THE  KETROSPECT  OF  TRIAL. 

''  O  thou  of  little  faith,  wherefore  didst  thou  doubt  ?  "  — 
St.  Matthew  xiv.  31. 

This  is  one  of  those  questions  wliich  search 
as  with  a  candle  the  deep  and  secret  corners  of 
our  heart.  It  is  Hke  the  still,  small  voice  which 
came  after  the  earthquake  and  after  the  whirl- 
wind. The  force  of  this  question  is  in  its  after- 
ness.  It  is  retrospective.  It  looks  backward 
and  is  a  question  of  fact.  It  is  not  prospective 
and  theoretical,  an  inquiry  into  the  possible 
causes  of  doubt,  nor  a  speculation  upon  the 
probability  that  one  will  act  thus  and  thus 
under  given  conditions.  This  question  comes 
in  after  the  experience  and  comments  upon  it, 
—  comes  in  after  we  have  acted,  and  asks  the 
reason  w^hy.  "  0  thou  of  little  faith,  wherefore 
didst  thou  doubt  ?  "  It  is  the  retrospect  of  trial. 
The  trial  is  over  ;  the  strain  is  taken  oif  ;  the 
fever  is  broken;  the  wind  has  gone  down; 
the  sun  has  come  out;  Hfe  has  righted  itself ; 


250  THE   RETROSPECT   OF   TRIAL. 

Jesus,  ever  faithful,  has  kept  His  word,  as 
He  always  meant  to.  And  we,  always  ready  to 
bound  up  buoyantly  when  strain  is  taken  off, 
and  to  sing  joyously  the  hymns  of  faith  Avhen 
there  is  nothing  in  particular  to  test  faith,  —  we 
would  be  quite  ready  to  leave  that  dark  experi- 
ence behind,  forsaken  and  forgotten,  the  doubt, 
the  murmuring,  the  bitterness  of  soul,  all  far  out 
of  sight  and  out  of  mind ;  we  w^ould  be  ready 
to  go  merrily  on  in  the  safety  and  the  sun- 
shine. But  He  will  not  let  us.  He  insists 
that  we  shall  go  back  and  review  that  experi- 
ence wherein  we  faltered  and  failed  ;  that  we 
shall  retrace,  in  solemn  retrospect,  that  un- 
w^elcome  hour  when  being  weighed  we  were 
found  wanting,  and  being  tested  w^e  w^ere 
found  unequal  to  the  awful  grandeur  of  the 
experience  wliich  He  had  permitted  us  to  enter 
as  one  of  life's  great  opportunities.  He  insists 
on  asking,  "  Why,  oh  why,  in  that  hard  hour, 
when  to  have  believed  would  have  been  so 
glorious,  when  not  to  have  doubted  Me  w^ould 
have  been  such  an  evidence  of  your  trust, 
why  did  you  doubt?  "  Am  I  not  right  in  say- 
ing this  is  one  of  those  questions  which  search 
as  wdth  a  candle  the  deep  and  secret  corners 
of  our  heart  ? 

The  force  of  these  reflections  will  appear  if 


THE  RETROSPECT  OF  TRIAL.  251 

you  will  use  as  an  illustration  the  particular  inci- 
dent in  the  experience  of  a  human  soul  long 
ago  which  is  partly  recorded  in  our  text.  I  shall 
simply  speak  o£  the  episode  in  that  stormy  night 
which  is  entirely  associated  with  the  Apostle 
Peter,  and  of  which  the  only  account  that  we 
possess  is  by  the  author  of  the  First  Gospel. 
When  the  disciples,  toiling  on  the  boisterous 
sea,  caught  sight  of  the  Figure  moving  toward 
them  through  the  darkness,  very  naturally  they 
were  terrified.  Jesus,  to  allay  their  fears,  called, 
up  the  wind,  as  He  moved  toward  them,  those 
dear  words  which  have  brought  comfort  to  so 
many  hearts :  "  Be  of  good  cheer ;  it  is  I :  be 
not  afraid."  When  Peter  heard  these  words 
wdiicli  identified  the  Saviour,  he  prepared  for 
himself,  with  characteristic  fearlessness,  a  new 
and  adventurous  experience,  not  contemplated 
by  any  one  else  in  the  boat.  I  cannot  but  ad- 
mire (however  disappointing  was  the  issue)  the 
readiness  with  which  Peter  offered  himself  as 
the  pioneer  of  a  new  experience.  I  do  not  see 
any  evidence  of  boastfulness  in  his  attempt.  I 
see  only  that  fearless  originality  which  does  not 
hesitate  to  enlist  in  a  new  experience,  nor  to 
commit  one's  self  to  a  great  risk,  merely  because 
the  experience  and  the  risk  may  lie  out  of  the 
ordinary  course  of  action.      The  fact  that  men 


252  THE  RETROSPECT   OF   TRIAL. 

do  not  commonly  go  over  vessels'  sides,  with 
the  hope  of  walking  upon  the  water,  is  no  good 
reason  for  condemning  the  man  who  does  it, 
if  he  is  honestly  sure  that  he  sees  that  in 
Christ  which  draws  him  out  on  this  new  line. 
I  think  more  people  in  this  world  perish  in 
beaten  tracks,  and  go  down  with  sinking  ships, 
than  those  who  come  to  grief  from  bravely 
striking  out  alone  upon  the  awful  sea  Avliere 
Christ  is  walking.  It  is  altogether  impossible 
for  some  natures  to  comprehend  how  to  others 
the  risk  of  a  course  is  no  conclusive  argument 
aofainst  its  blessedness,  and  how  the  fact  that 
most  men  do  not  try  to  walk  on  water  furnishes 
no  reason  why  one  man  may  not  try. 

At  all  events,  he  presented  himself  for  the 
new  experience.  "  Lord,  if  it  be  Thou,  bid 
me  come  unto  Thee  on  the  water."  And  like 
the  echo  of  his  own  voice  came  back  Christ's 
answer  to  him,  "  Come  !  "  Many  times  in  His 
ministry  Christ  said  to  men,  "  Come."  But 
never  does  it  have,  for  me,  quite  such  a  thrill 
in  it  as  here,  when  He  says  to  Peter,  "  Come." 
Oh,  what  there  is  in  that  word,  when  you  think 
of  it,  that  "  Come  "  which  beckoned  a  life  out 
upon  a  path  that  man's  foot  had  never  trodden 
before ;  which  permitted  a  life  to  walk  where 
every  step  was  on  a  trackless  element,  over  the 


THE  RETROSPECT  OF  TRIAL.  253 

very  abysses  of  destruction  ;  which  led  a  life 
beyond  the  range  of  all  parallel  experience, 
and  made  it  the  creator  of  its  own  prece- 
dents. "  Come  !  "  It  is  the  broad-mindedness 
of  Jesus,  Who  neither  sanctions  the  old  because 
it  is  old,  nor  bans  the  new  because  it  is  new,  but 
blesses  any  path,  new  or  old,  that  truly  leads 
to  Himself.  "  Come  !  "  It  is  the  sympathy  of 
Jesus,  Who  can  understand  every  man's  life, 
even  the  aspirations  of  him  who  conceives  of 
doing  that  which  human  experience  has  de- 
clared impossible,  but  which  has  the  glory  of 
Christ  as  its  goal.  "  Come  !  "  It  is  the  fellow- 
ship of  Jesus,  Who  "  suffers  us  to  come  to  Him 
through  the  waters,"  and  to  stand  with  Him  on 
depths  where  our  only  safety  is  in  clinging  to 
His  Hand.  Yes !  when  w^e  consider  the  mys- 
terious originality  of  some  human  experiences, 
how  some  are  truly  called  to  launch  on  un- 
beaten and  unfathomed  tracks,  it  is  something 
more  than  precious  to  think,  as  we  do  to-day, 
of  Christ  standing  at  the  farther  end  of  that 
strange,  perilous  track,  and  saying,  "  Come  !  " 
Peter  flung  himself  upon  the  new  experience 
with  the  courage  of  that  "  Come  "  ringing  iti 
his  ears.  He  stood  upon  the  depths  and  they 
opened  not  under  him,  and,  treading  firmly, 
with  hi  3  eye  fastened  on  Christ,  the  green  wave 
bore  him  r.s  it  had  been  a  floor  of  malachite. 


254  THE  RETROSPECT  OF  TRIAL. 

And  now  what  are  the  three  factors  which 
make  this  picture  such  a  tremendous  soul- 
picture  for  many  of  us  ?  First,  you  see  Peter 
committing  himself  with  the  approval  of  Christ 
to  a  certain  new  experience :  "  When  Peter  was 
come  down  out  of  the  ship,  he  walked  on  the 
water,  to  go  to  Jesus."  Second,  you  see  him 
beginning'  to  feel  overpoAveringly  the  strain  of 
his  environment.  "  When  he  saw  the  wind 
boisterous,  he  was  afraid."  His  was  indeed  a 
terrible  situation  at  the  moment,  and  when  he 
began  to  consider  it,  when  lie  lost  that  highly 
sustained  concentration  of  his  thoughts  upon 
Christ,  and  began  instead  to  measure  the  peril 
of  his  environment,  the  strain  became  overpower- 
ing, and  he  sank  to  the  level  of  a  commoner  life, 
the  heroism  of  a  magnificent  conception  was 
quenched  in  human  terror,  —  "  he  was  afraid." 
And  third,  you  see,  reading  between  the  lines 
of  Christ's  question,  that  Peter,  faltering  then, 
lost  unconsciously  one  of  the  most  splendid 
opportunities  of  a  lifetime. '  "  0  thou  of  little 
faith,  wherefore  didst  thou  doubt  ?  "  Catch  the 
unspeakable  regret  and  sorrow  in  the  Saviour's 
tone :  "  O  thou  of  little  faith,  why  did  you 
do  it  ?  Why  did  you  miss  your  opportunity  ? 
I  permitted  you  to  come  into  this  experience, 
that  you  might  have  the  most  splendid  opening 


THE  RETROSPECT  OF  TRIAL.  255 

for  heroic  concentration  ever  offered  to  you.  I 
said  '  Come/  that  in  this  awful  hour  you  might 
unlock  the  door  to  a  larger  life.  Why  have  you 
spoiled  it  all  ?  O  thou  of  little  faith,  where- 
fore didst  thou  doubt  ?  "  My  friend,  suppose 
you  had  been  standing  by  Thorwaldsen  when 
he  was  fashioning  his  statue  of  St.  John ;  sup- 
pose you  had  seen  him,  full  of  his  heroical  ideal- 
ism, complete  the  noble  form,  and  then  at- 
tempt to  put  upon  the  face  that  marvellous  up- 
ward look.  He  tries  and  fails.  He  tries  again 
and  almost  attains.  Give  him  an  hour  more 
and  he  will  have  it.  Alas  !  he  falters,  he  is 
discouraged,  an  ignoble  petulance  conquers 
him ;  he  seizes  the  mallet  and  breaks  the  statue 
in  pieces.  Had  this  really  been  and  had 
you  really  seen  this,  would  you  not  have 
cried  with  bitter  pain,  "  0  thou  of  little  faith, 
wherefore  didst  thou  doubt  ?  Wherefore  didst 
thou  falter  at  the  supreme  verge  of  victory  ? 
Wherefore  basely  miss  the  success  of  a  life- 
time ?"  So,  I  think,  Christ  cried  out  when  Peter 
missed  that  one  supreme  moment  of  concentra- 
tion and  continuance  which  would  have  brouo-ht 
the  victory.  I  think  Christ  sorrowed  over 
him,  as  He  sorrows  over  every  one  of  us,  when, 
permitted  to  reach  some  crucial  hour  of  experi- 
ence in  which  fidelity  and  faith  will  really  count 


256  THE  RETROSPECT   OF  TRIAL. 

for  something  almost  if  not  quite  sublime,  we 
yield  to  the  strain  of  our  environment,  and 
destroy  in  fear  our  most  immortal  opportunity. 
I  do  not  doubt  that  there  may  come  days,  yes, 
hours,  in  a  human  experience,  when  to  have 
endured  without  murmurino-  or  without  doubt- 
ing,  the  strain  of  one's  environment,  shall  per- 
manently elevate  character,  and  set  to  glorious 
music  all  the  later  years. 

"  Wherefore  didst  thou  doubt?  "  These  in- 
tense, reproachful,  sorrowing  words  of  Jesus 
have  power,  when  we  take  them  to  ourselves, 
and  fancy  them  spoken  of  ourselves,  to  start 
within  us  trains  of  thought  which,  in  all  their 
startling  individuality,  cannot  fully  be  uttered. 
"Wherefore  didst  thou  doubt?"  The  retro- 
spection of  this  question  gives  to  it  no  small  part 
of  its  tremendous  force.  It  speaks  of  the  past, 
and  with  compelling  earnestness  forces  us  to  look 
back  and  analyze  its  weakness.  It  speaks,  not 
of  the  present,  which  by  some  sudden  inspira- 
tion, some  fire-touch  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  may 
yet  be  changed  from  dulness  to  glory,  but  of 
the  past,  which  has  slipped  from  us  and  has  set 
itself  in  unalterable  lines.  And  so  the  first 
train  of  thought  it  starts,  is  one  which  takes 
us  back  amidst  lost  opportunities.  It  reminds 
us  that  one  comes,  from  time  to  time,  to  great 


THE  RETROSPECT   OF  TRIAL.  257 

hours,  when  the  possibility  of  heroical  faithful- 
ness is  enormously  concentrated  ;  when  the  far- 
reaching  responsibility  of  action  or  of  endurance 
i>  intensified  a  hundred  fold;  when  one  may 
live  a  year  in  one  hour,  a  lifetime  in  one  day. 
It  reminds  us  that  we  may  fail  to  recognize 
the  great  meaning  of  one  hour  or  one  day  till  it 
has  passed  us  by  forever ;  or  that,  though  con- 
ceiving of  its  greatness,  we  may  falter  under  the 
strain  of  its  environment,  and  not  recover  till 
the  hour,  with  its  fiery,  stormy  opportunity,  has 
gone.  Thus  the  Jewish  nation  failed  to  recog- 
nize her  great  hour  when  Jesus  came.  She 
stood  in  her  narrowness,  killing  the  prophets 
and  stoning  them  that  were  sent  unto  her, 
until  the  hour  of  possibility  was  passed  and  her 
house  was  left  unto  her  desolate.  How  terrible  is 
the  sound  of  Christ's  lament  over  Jerusalem's 
bhndness  !  "  If  thou  hadst  known,  even  thou, 
at  least  in  this  thy  day,  the  things  which  be- 
long unto  thy  peace,  but  now  they  are  hid 
from  thine  eyes."  ^  And  thus  men  and  women 
may  fail  to  recognize  their  great  hours,  and 
under  the  imperious  strain  of  passion,  or  the 
rush  of  fear,  or  the  paroxysm  of  doubt,  may 
throw  away  the  sublimest  things  in  a  lifetime. 
There  are  great  hours  —  great,  that  is,  ac- 

1  St.  Lk.  xix.  42. 


25S  THE  RETROSPECT   OF  TRIAL. 

cording  to  their  kind  —  in  many  of  life's  more 
ambitious  pursuits  ;  hours  in  which  the  signifi- 
cance of  action  is  immensely  great  and  its  con- 
sequences immensely  long.  I  have  known  of 
men  in  pohtical  life,  and  of  men  in  financial 
life,  reaHzing  with  indescribable  vexation,  after 
its  departure,  that  such  an  hour  had  been 
given  them,  and  that  through  lack  of  insight 
or  through  lack  of  nerve  they  had  failed  to 
grasp  its  meaning.  To  one  in  whose  estimation 
the  makinof  of  character  and  the  service  of 
Jesus  are  the  supreme  ends  of  living,  how  bitter 
and  how  absolutely  unavailing  is  it  to  realize 
that  we  have  passed  in  dull  unconsciousness,  or 
that  we  have  destroyed  through  fear  and  doubt, 
one  of  our  greater  hours,  one  of  our  larger  op- 
portunities to  ennoble  character  and  to  serve 
Jesus  Christ !  Ah,  how  easy  it  is  to  see  the 
greatness  of  certain  hours  in  the  clear,  cold 
light  of  sad  retrospection  !  How  easy  it  is  to 
measure  the  magnificence  of  possibilities  when 
they  have  forever  passed  beyond  our  reach ! 
We  cannot  go  back  to  them,  cannot  live  them 
through  a  second  time.  They  are  lost.  In 
vain  we  upbraid  ourselves.  Why  did  I  doubt  ? 
Why  did  I  yield  to  passion  ?  Why  could  I 
not  have  watched  with  Christ  one  hour  ?  The 
Great  Hour  flashes  back  upon  us  its  silent,  un- 


THE  RETROSPECT   OF  TRIAL.  259 

attainable,  impossible  beauty,  and  Christ  says 
to  us,  "  If  thou  hadst  known,  even  thou,  at 
least  in  this  thy  day,  the  things  which  belong 
unto  thy  peace,  but  now  they  are  hid  from 
thine  eyes." 

Another  train  of  thought  which  is  instantly 
started  when  one  takes  these  words  of  the  text 
home  to  one's  self  has  its  rise  in  that  "  Come  " 
which  Jesus  speaks  to  Peter.  That  "  Come  "  is 
a  permission,  rather  than  a  command.  Peter 
got  the  experience  planned  for  himself,  and 
Christ  let  him  drop  into  it,  knowing  how  much 
more  there  was  in  it  than  Peter  counted  on,  how 
terrible  would  be  the  strain  of  it.  Was  it  un- 
kind of  Christ  to  permit  him  ?  —  to  say  "  Come  " 
when  He  might  as  well  have  said  "  Come  not "  ? 
I  think  not.  It  was  severe.  But  only  because, 
sooner  or  later,  life  must  be  severe,  and  in  the 
world  we  must  have  pressure.  If  we  have  or 
have  had  our  hard  times,  do  not  let  us  forget 
how  much  we  had  to  do  in  planning  the  course 
which  has  unexpectedly  developed  such  terrific 
depths.  We  wanted  to  walk  the  water,  and 
Christ  said  "  Come,"  knowing  all  the  while  the 
water  was  deep  enough  to  drown  us.  It  was  not 
unkind.  It  had  to  be.  This  is  life,  to  take  con- 
tracts which  may  be  far  too  large  for  us ;  to  step 
out  beyond  our  depth.    For  thus  only  comes  the 


260  THE  RETROSPECT   OF  TRIAL. 

possibility  of  great  and  crucial  liourSj  great  be- 
cause tliey  are  terrible,  terrible  because  they 
are  great.  Do  I  hear  some  one  deny  this  ?  Do 
I  hear  some  sedate  philosopher  declare,  "  Strain 
is  imnecessary ;  it  is  the  result  of  wild  choices ; 
it  ought  not  to  be  allowed,  people  ought  to  have 
the  sense  not  to  get  beyond  their  depth  "  ?  My 
friend,  wait.  Your  turn  will  come.  Your  turn 
will  come.  You  have  sailed  pretty  cleverly, 
but  some  day  your  swelling  sails  of  compla- 
cency will  have  to  come  down  with  a  run, 
and  you  also  will  go  about  and  lie  to,  to  ride 
out  a  gale  like  the  rest  of  us.  Yes  !  the  great 
"  Come "  of  Jesus  permits  these  experiences 
which  constitute,  whether  we  know  it  or  know 
it  not,  our  Great  Hours. 

By  what  sign  shall  we  know  these  Great 
Hours  ?  By  the  sign  of  the  Cross.  They  come 
to  an  intellectual  mind  in  the  progress  of  the 
life  of  faith.  You  h?ive  been  living  for  some 
time  in  unusual  peace,  breathing  the  serene  at- 
mosphere of  souls  whose  faith  is  stronger  than 
vour  own.  Suddenlv  the  wind  chano-es,  and  a 
blast  out  of  the  bitter  north  lowers  the  temper- 
ature of  the  soul.  What  is  it  ?  It  is  a  new 
book  you  have  read  which  trains  a  new  gun  of 
ao'uosticism  ao^ainst  the  battlements  of  faith.  It 
is  a  new  friend  you  have  met,  whose  sneer  at 


THE  RETROSPECT  OF  TRIAL.  261 

Christ  is  sheathed  in  the  velvet  of  beauteous 
and  seducing  words.  And  the  chill  of  the 
bitter  wind  falls  upon  you,  and  freezes  the 
Peace  of  Christ  within  you.  Remember,  friend, 
these  are  your  Great  Hours.  By  the  sign  of 
the  Cross  you  shall  know  them. 

They  come  to  sensitive  natures  In  the  rude 
wrestlino'  match  with  this  hard-handed  world,  A 
buffet  from  one  you  had  called  a  friend )  a  cruel 
slight  from  the  hand  that  erst  rested  on  your 
own  in  warmest  clasp ;  a  superciHous  sneer ;  a 
barbed  jest  shot  from  the  full  quiver  of  some 
social  satirist ;  a  slander  dropped  like  a  blot 
from  the  pen  of  some  heedless  letter- writer,  yet 
staining  ineffaceably  the  page  on  which  it  falls, 
—  have  such,  or  any  such,  come  to  you  ?  Re- 
member, friend,  these  are  your  Great  Hours. 
By  the  sign  of  the  Cross  you  shall  know  them. 

They  come  to  impetuous  natures  in  the 
hour  of  intense  temptation.  When  the  blood 
is  leaping  through  the  veins  like  a  torrent  let 
loose  upon  the  hills ;  when  the  imagination  is 
white-hot  and  sensitive  as  an  uncovered  nerve  ; 
when  the  din  of  passion  is  beating  into  the 
background  every  caution,  eveiy  counsel,  every 
command  of  Christ,  —  have  you  lived  through 
this?  Remember,  friend,  these  are  your  Great 
Hours.  By  the  sign  of  the  Cross  you  shall 
know  them. 


262  THE  RETROSPECT   OF  TRIAL. 

They  come  to  the  bursting  heart  of  love 
when  it  looks  on  the  suffering'  of  its  beloved, 
powerless  to  help.  When  fever  is  burning 
up  the  sweet  structure  of  our  most  precious 
hopes ;  when  cries  of  anguish  and  sobs  of 
speechless  appeal  are  issuing  from  lips  that  we 
have  pressed  a  thousand  times ;  when  Death, 
like  a  soulless  sculptor,  is  moulding  the  altered 
features  into  the  unworldly  beauty  of  the  final 
sleep,  —  have  you  lived  through  this  ?  Kemem- 
ber,  friend,  these  were  your  Great  Hours.  By 
the  sign  of  the  Cross  you  shall  know  them. 

They  will  come  to  the  awe-stricken  spirits  of  us 
all,  as,  each  in  his  turn,  we  shall  gird  ourselves 
for  mortal  suffering  and  prepare  for  the  peril 
of  death.  Then,  when  the  way  before  us 
changes  from  the  familiar  path  of  health  and 
business  to  the  trackless,  sighing  wave ;  when 
the  ship-load  of  kindred  hearts  must  be  for- 
saken, and  the  pilgrim  of  the  deep  must  stand 
alone  to  join  the  beckoning  Lord  —  then  shall 
be  our  Great  Hour.  By  the  sign  of  the  Cross 
we  shall  know  it. 

But  there  is  another  train  of  thought  that 
starts  from  these  words,  and  leads  along  the 
Ascension  Path  of  Christ  to  that  Life  from 
whose  heigrhts  we  shall  look  back  on  the  Great 
Hours  of  earth.     It  no  longer  becomes  difficult 


THE  RETROSPECT   OF  TRIAL.  263 

to  imagine  that  that  Life  must  be  sublimely 
happy  for  all  who  have  known  their  Great 
Hours  on  earth  and  have  lived  up  to  them. 
When  the  child  whom  we  thouorht  to  be  dyino' 
sits  at  our  table  once  again,  brown  \sdth  sunny 
health,  what  bHss  it  is  to  remember  that  in  the 
darkest  hours  of  the  illness  we  breathed  out  to 
God  our  deepest  behef  in  His  wisdom  and  His 
love  !  When  the  full  assurance  of  spiritual  faith 
is  put  into  our  hands  like  an  overflowing  cup, 
what  grandeur  is  in  the  memory  that,  amidst 
the  most  sterile  Avastes  of  a  sceptical  environ- 
ment, we  denied  not  the  Blessed  Lord  !  When 
the  friend  whose  long  silence  was  unaccounted 
for  speaks  again  the  same,  deep,  changeless 
word  of  faithfulness,  how  peaceful  is  the  joy  of 
remembering  that  we  believed  when  belief  was 
all  we  had !  And  when  the  Life  of  Faith  is 
ended  and  the  Life  of  Sight  begins ;  when  we 
see  as  we  are  seen,  and  know  as  we  are  known ; 
when  the  stone  is  rolled  away  from  all  hidden 
things,  and  the  buried  mysteries  believed  in 
and  hoped  for  troop  out  into  the  light,  —  will 
not  Joy's  coronet  of  joy  be  to  remember  that 
when  all  was  darkest  and  stormiest,  we  walked 
on  the  moving  waters  with  nothing  to  guide  us, 
nothing  to  uphold  us  but  faith  in  Him  Who  had 
appeared  to  us  in  the  storm,  and  Who  had  said 
to  our  adventurous  spirit  "  Come  "  ?     Amen. 


XVI. 

THE  FAITHFUL  COMPANION. 


XVI. 

THE  FAITHFUL  COMPANION. 

"  And  yet  I  am  not  alone."  —  St.  John  xvi.  32. 

The  theme  of  our  discourse  is  The  Faith- 
ful Companion.  As  Christ,  amidst  the  toils 
and  sorrows  of  His  laborious  ministry,  was  con- 
tinually revived  by  the  companionship  of  the 
Eternal  Father,  insomuch  that  He  could  say  to 
His  dearest  earthly  friends,  "  Ye  shall  be  scat- 
tered, every  man  to  his  own,  and  shall  leave 
Me  alone,  and  yet  I  am  not  alone,  for  the 
Father  is  with  Me,"  so  we,  who  by  faith  have 
known  that  Blessed  Saviour,  are  permitted  to 
enjoy  His  companionship  amidst  the  trying 
sohtariness  of  personal  experience,  and  can  say 
in  life's  loneliest  hour,  "  And  yet  I  am  not 
alone." 

We  enter  our  theme  through  those  opening 
words,  "and  yet."  They  are  words  of  won- 
drous, pathetic  eloquence.  More  properly  we 
should  speak  of  them  as  one  word.  In  the 
Greek  there  is  but  one  word,  the  simple  con- 
junction, xac  —  "  and."     But  it  is  invested,  by 


268  THE  FAITHFUL   COMPANION. 

reason  of  the  emotion  in  the  speaker's  heart, 
with  a  special  significance,  which  is  described 
in  the  technical  language  of  Greek  syntax  as 
the  force  of  "  rhetorical  emphasis."  Instead  of 
being  a  mere  ordinary  conjunction,  connecting 
two  clauses  of  speech  without  reflecting  the 
substance  of  those  clauses,  there  is  injected 
into  it,  from  the  burning  heart  of  the  speaker, 
the  fire,  the  passion  of  a  contrast,  an  affecting 
contrast,  which  the  speaker  reahzes  with  deep 
emotion :  "  And  yet  I  am  not  alone."  This 
emotional  use  of  the  conjunction,  by  which  it 
becomes  the  expression  of  an  affecting  con- 
trast, has  become,  to  all  of  us,  a  familiar  form 
of  daily  speech.  For  life  is  one  tissue  of 
amazing  contrasts  and  thrilhng  surprises :  the 
unexpected  is  forever  happening ;  resultant 
facts  are  continually  contradicting  probabilities. 
We  are  always  recording  contrasts;  always 
finding  life  other  than  it  seemed  likely  to  be  ; 
always  readjusting  things  with  our  one  word, 
"  and  yet,"  which  can  be  spoken  in  all  tones, 
from  a  song  to  a  groan.  Who  has  not  said 
such  words  as  these  :  "  It  was  such  a  precious, 
beautiful  life,  so  needed  on  earth,  and  yet  God 
has  taken  it  away."  "  He  seems  to  have  every- 
thing that  heart  could  wish,  and  yet  he  is  so 
restless  and  unhappy."     "  She  has  so  much  to 


THE  FAITHFUL   COMPANION,  269 

worry  and  depress  her,  and  yet  she  is  so  stead- 
fast and  strong."  "  It  was  such  a  true,  inspir- 
mg  friendship,  and  yet  the  friends  are  thrust 
apart."  "  He  seems  such  a  lover  of  truth,  and 
yet  he  refuses  to  beUeve  that  Jesus  is  Divine." 
"  I  have  no  wit  or  wisdom  to  see  the  path  before 
me,  and  yet  God  keeps  me  calm." 

Christ,  when  on  earth,  seems  to  have  been 
impressed  with  the  fact  that  life  is  a  tissue  of 
contrasts,  and  the  special  use  of  the  conjunc- 
tion, of  which  an  example  is  afforded  in  our 
text,  is  very  frequently  found  in  those  of  His 
sayings  recorded  by  St.  John,  such  for  example 
as  these  :  ''I  told  you,  and  yet  ye  believed 
not."  ^  "  I  honor  My  Father,  and  yet  ye  do 
dishonor  Me."  ^  "  We  speak  that  we  do  know 
and  testify  that  we  have  seen,  and  yet  ye  receive 
not  our  witness."  ^  "  Have  not  I  chosen  you 
twelve,  and  yet  one  of  you  is  a  devil  ?  "  '^  ''  Did 
not  Moses  give  you  the  law,  and  yet  none  of 
you  keepeth  the  law?"^  Generally,  as  these 
quotations  indicate.  He  was  remarking  that  life 
does  not  come  up  to  the  level  of  its  possibihties, 
and  constantly  contradicts  its  antecedent  prob- 
abilities.    But  our  text  is  a  great,  a  joyous  ex- 

1  St.  Jno.  X.  25.  -  St.  Jno.  viii.  49. 

3  St.  Jno.  iii.  11.  *  St.  Juo.  vi.  70. 

6  St.  Jno.  vii.  19. 


270  THE  FAITHFUL    COMPANION. 

cejDtion  to  the  prevailing  sadness  of  the  utter- 
ances just  quoted.  He  is  speaking  of  the  lone- 
liness of  His  Personal  Experience,  —  a  loneli- 
ness shortly  to  he  intensified  by  the  desertion  of 
His  followers.  He  has  drawn  a  dark  picture  of 
that  approaching,  that  impending  desertion  : 
"  Behold,  the  hour  cometh,  yea  is  now  come, 
that  ye  shall  he  scattered,  every  man  to  his  own, 
and  shall  leave  Me  alone ; "  when  suddenly, 
like  a  broad  bar  of  golden  sunshine  thrust  out 
through  the  purple  folds  of  an  impending 
cloud.  He  utters  that  wondrous  "conjunction 
of  rhetorical  emphasis,"  that  symbol  of  contrast 
between  the  darkness  of  that  which  might  be 
expected,  and  the  brightness,  the  peace,  the 
comfort  of  that  which  actually  is :  "  Ye  shall 
leave  Me  alone  ;  and  yet,  and  yet,  I  am  not 
alone,  for  the  Father  is  with  Me." 

It  is  possible  to  realize  in  some  slight  degree 
the  meanincr  which  these  words  had  for  the 
Heart  of  Jesus.  "  And  yet  I  am  not  alone." 
When  we  reflect  for  a  moment  upon  the  lone- 
liness of  Christ's  Personal  Experience  in  the 
days  of  His  bodily  sojourning  upon  the  earth, 
we  pass  by  such  an  obvious  cause  of  loneli- 
ness as  the  fact  that  in  manhood  He  to  V/hom 
a  home  would  have  been,  as  it  is  to  us,  a  haven 
of  rest,  had  no  home  ;  that,  whilst  the  humbler 


THE   FAITHFUL    COMPANION.  'ITI 

creatures  o£  iiature,  the  foxes  and  the  birds, 
had  their  burrows  and  their  nests,  He,  the 
Son  of  Man  "  (to  use  His  Own  Avords),  "  had 
not  where  to  lay  His  Head."  ^  We  turn  to 
those  more  profound  conditions  which,  by  their 
keener  edge,  wounded  more  terribly  His  suf- 
fering Spirit,  and  darkened  His  Personal  Ex- 
perience with  the  sorrow  of  loneliness.  The 
insensibility  of  Israel  and  the  blindness  of  the 
world  made  His  daily  path  a  path  of  intense 
loneliness.  Twice  does  St.  John  use  this  pa- 
thetic conjunction  of  rhetorical  emphasis  in 
dwelling  upon  this  idea.  "  He  was  in  the 
world,"  he  says,  "  and  the  world  was  made  by 
Him,  and  yet  the  world  knew  Him  not."  ^  "  He 
came  unto  His  Own,  and  yet  His  Own  received 
Him  not."  ^  Have  we  not  faculties  which  to 
some  imperfect  extent  permit  us  to  realize  how 
the  insensibility  of  Israel  and  the  blindness  of 
the  world  thrust  continually  into  Christ's  affec- 
tionate and  desirino^  Heart  the  anaruish  of  lone- 
liness  ?  Coming  to  the  world  with  no  other 
purpose  than  to  redeem  the  world  from  death 
unto  life,  to  make  its  griefs  His  Own,  to  toil 
under  the  burdens  of  men,  to  guide  wdth 
brotherly   counsels  men's   stumbling  feet  into 

1  St.  Matt.  viii.  20.  2  gt.  Juo.  i.  10. 

8  St.  Jno.  i.  11. 


272  THE  FAITHFUL    COMPANION. 

the  way  of  peace,  He  found  Himself  not 
wanted  and  not  tolerated  —  ''  despised  and 
rejected  of  men."  ^  Coming  to  Israel  as  its 
Prince  and  Saviour,  the  Incarnate  Fulfilment 
of  all  that  the  prophets  had  spoken  from  the 
beginning,  He  is  met  with  the  cry  of  invete- 
rate enmity,  "  We  will  not  have  this  man  to 
reio'n  over  us."  ^  With  this  the  attitude  of  Is- 
rael  and  of  the  world,  His  pathway,  as  far  as  it 
touches  Israel  and  the  world,  must  be  a  lonely 
pathway. 

But  the  lonehness  of  His  personal  experi- 
ence is  intensified  by  the  desertion  of  His 
friends.  '*  Ye  shall  be  scattered  and  shall  leave 
Me  alone."  He  predicted  this  before  it  occurred, 
and  the  knowledge  of  its  approach  made  Him 
conscious  always  that  at  the  last  His  friends 
would  fail  Him  and  faU  away.  Thus,  whatever 
may  have  been  His  natural  craving  for  their 
support,  in  His  Heart  He  knew  that  He  was 
their  Supporter  and  they  not  His.  But  above 
all  else,  Christ's  wondrous,  unique  nature,  with 
its  perfect  antipatliy  to  all  sin,  yet  li\dng  in  a 
sinful  environment ;  with  its  supreme  insight 
into  the  thought-life  of  others,  yet  detecting 
there  mainly  ignorance  and  unbelief  ;  with  its 
infinite  capacity  for  suffering  met  by  an  infinite 

1  Isa.  liii.  3.  2  gt.  Lk.  xix.  14. 


THE  FAITHFUL   COMPANION.  273 

need  that  He  should  suffer,  —  this,  His  unique 
nature,  placed  Him  in  an  experience  where, 
however  inten3ely  human  love  might  wish  to 
bear  Him  company,  human  incapacity  prevented 
companionship.  His  sorrow  no  human  friend 
could  share.  Being  Who  and  What  He  was, 
He  had  no  choice  but  to  tread  the  winepress 
alone.  Thus  we  think  our  way,  my  friends,  in 
some  true  though  imperfect  degree,  into  the 
loneliness  of  our  Lord's  Personal  Experience, 
and  just  as  we  begin  in  a  sense  to  grasp  it,  and 
just  as  we  begin  to  say,  "  Was  ever  sorrow  like 
unto  His  sorrow  ? "  suddenly  He  breaks  in 
upon  our  thought  with  that  marvellous  word  of 
contrast,  "and  yet, —  and  yet,"  with  all  the 
loneliness  that  you  can  understand,  and  with 
all  the  loneliness  beyond  that  loneliness  which 
you  cannot  possibly  understand,  "  and  yet  I  am 
not  alone,  for  the  Father  is  with  Me." 

If  this  is  Christ's  testimony,  given  in  the 
days  when  He  was  walking  here  in  the  same 
world  where  we  are  now  walking,  may  not  His 
disciples  give  in  their  own  way  a  testimony 
like  His  ?  If  He,  amidst  the  toils  and  sorrows 
of  His  laborious  ministry,  was  continually  re- 
vived by  the  Companionship  of  the  Eternal 
Father,  are  not  we,  who  by  faith  have  known 
that  Blessed  Saviour,  permitted  to  enjoy  His 


274  THE  FAITHFUL   COMPANION. 

Companionsliip  amidst  the  trying  solitariness  of 
our  personal  experience,  and  to  say  in  life's 
loneliest  hour,  "  And  yet  I  am  not  alone  "  ? 

The  experience  of  loneliness  is  one  of  the 
most  complex  of  our  experiences ;  it  is  found 
in  many  a  life  where  its  presence  is  least  sus- 
pected ;  it  is  often  produced  to  an  extreme  de- 
gree in  those  who  have  little  time  to  be  alone ; 
and  although  we  cannot  believe  that  our  lone- 
liness ever  approximates  to  that  felt  by  our 
Lord,  it  is  nevertheless  one  of  the  deepest 
notes  that  are  ever  sounded  in  our  hearts. 
Having  just  spoken  of  the  loneliness  of  Christ's 
Personal  Experience  and  of  the  blessed  relief 
which  He  had  in  it  all,  through  realizing  the 
Companionship  of  the  Father,  I  propose  fur- 
ther to  speak  of  the  conditions  frequently  en- 
countered in  one  and  another  human  life  where 
the  lonehness  of  personal  experience  may  be 
most  keenly  felt,  and  where,  to  those  who 
possess  a  true  faith,  the  Presence  of  Christ, 
the  Faithful  Companion,  will  be  particularly 
strengthening. 

"  And  yet  I  am  not  alone  I  "  Happy  is  he 
who  can  speak  thus  concerning  the  Presence  of 
Christ  amidst  the  loneliness  of  inexperience. 
What  is  more  lonely  than  thoughtful  youth? 
Some  natures  in  the  days  of  their  youth  make 


THE  FAITHFUL   COMPANION.  275 

a  jest  of  living ;  they  view  every  question 
from  the  standpoint  of  a  joke ;  they  make  the 
sweetest  and  the  greatest  matters  trivial  by  their 
method  of  handling  them.  To  such,  inexperi- 
ence has  no  loneliness  in  youth ;  perchance  it 
shall  beget  a  very  bitter  loneliness  ere  many 
years  have  passed.  But  to  the  thoughtful, 
walking  out  from  their  childhood  into  the  wide, 
wide  world  of  living  and  deciding  and  doing ; 
beset  at  every  point  with  new  questions,  loaded 
with  new  responsibilities,  thrilled  with  new  feel- 
ings, sensitively  conscious  that  the  heart  is  un- 
skilled, the  judgment  undeveloped, — to  such 
the  loneliness  of  inexperience  is  a  great  reality. 
We  are  accustomed  to  talk  in  broad  abstrac- 
tions about  the  sunny  freedom  of  youth ;  and 
it  is,  in  many  things,  a  sunny  freedom.  Yet  I 
question  whether  any  tears  we  ever  shed  in 
riper  years  are  more  scalding  than  some  which 
youth  has  shed ;  I  question  whether  the  fear  of 
living  has  ever  come  with  more  sickening  insis- 
tence to  any  than  to  some  yet  trembling  on 
the  threshold  of  life ;  I  question  whether  any 
loneliness  has  created  a  sense  of  more  utter 
desolation  than  in  some  tender  hearts  forced  by 
circumstances  to  stand  alone  in  youth.  Happy 
are  they,  yes  and  safe  are  they,  who  amidst 
that  prostrating  loneliness  of  inexperience  are 


276  THE  FAITHFUL   COMPANION. 

able  to  say,  realizing  the  Presence  of  Christ, 
"and  yet  —  and  yet,  I  am  not  alone."  To  be 
able  to  say  that  is  to  acknowledge  that  we  have 
found  a  Friend,  a  Faithful  Companion,  Who 
will  not  despise  our  inexperience,  Who  will  not 
deride  our  mistakes.  Who  will  not  frown  on 
our  youthful  desires.  It  is  impossible  for  me 
to  express  the  tenderness  with  which  my  heart 
goes  forth  to  inexperienced  and  thoughtful 
youth ;  how  great  its  affairs  seem  to  me  ;  how 
sacred  its  aspirations ;  how  pathetic  its  sadness 
and  its  fears.  But  could  I  condense  all  my 
sympathies  with  youth  into  one  single  expres- 
sion, it  would  be  to  tell  the  young  heart,  in  its 
mysterious  loneliness,  that  there  is  One  Friend 
and  One  alone  Who  can  take  that  loneliness 
away. 

"  And  yet  I  am  not  alone."  Happy  is  he 
who  can  sjDcak  thus  concerning  the  Presence 
of  Christ  amidst  the  loneliness  of  temptation. 
There  are  some  of  our  temptations  w^hich  con- 
template, in  then'  consummation,  an  open  act ; 
there  are  others  which  look  to  consummation 
in  secret  deed.  Of  both  forms  it  may  be  said 
with  equal  truth  that  loneliness  is  the  final 
characteristic  of  temptation.  For  in  the  last 
analysis  of  temptation,  we  find  the  place  of 
decision  was  in  the  loneliness   of    the   heart. 


THE   FAITHFUL    COMPANION.  277 

There,  where  the  evil  desires  are  cagecl  Hke 
unclean  birds,  where  the  imagination  exhibits 
its  false  ideals  of  the  satisfaction  of  sinning ; 
there,  where  thoughts  utter  themselves  una- 
bashed whose  faintest  whisper  we  would  sup- 
press from  the  hearing  of  human  ears,  —  thither 
within  himself  the  man  withdraws,  willing  to 
indulge  himself  with  unholy  solitude  ;  closing 
in  the  blinds  about  the  windows  of  his  life  ; 
shutting  and  locking  the  doors  behind  him ; 
consenting  to  ponder  evil.  God  send  to  such  a 
man  in  such  a  moment  the  startling:  thouoht, 
"  And  yet  I  am  not  alone  !  "  God  make  such 
a  man  suddenly  conscious  of  a  Presence  with 
him  in  what  he  thought  his  solitude ;  God 
cause  such  a  man  to  start  up  and  see  at  his 
right  hand  the  Holy  Saviour,  gazing  with  Eyes 
where  sternness  and  love  contend,  and  say- 
ing, "  Arise  !  Thou  art  not  alone.  I  forbid 
thee  to  bring  this  shame  upon  thy  soul." 

"And  yet  I  am  not  alone."  Happy  is  he 
who  can  speak  thus  concerning  the  Presence  of 
Christ  amidst  the  loneliness  of  spiritual  desire. 
Sooner  or  later,  he  who  truly  leads  the  life  of 
spiritual  desire  will  find  it  in  some  things  a 
lonely  life.  If  any  one  who  believes  Christ,  with 
all  his  heart  gives  himself  up  to  the  longing  for 
likeness  to  Christ,  which  is  holiness ;  for  one- 


278  THE   FAITHFUL    COMPANION. 

ness  with  Christ,  which  is  power  ;  for  the  vision 
of  Christ,  which  is  knowledge,  —  he  must  expect 
to  be  often  in  loneliness  as  far  as  human  com- 
panionship goes.  This  loneliness  he  will  some- 
times realize  most  keenly  when  all  around  him 
are  the  gay  and  laughing  faces  of  his  friends ; 
when  human  voices  are  sounding  in  his  ears 
like  the  sound  of  many  waters ;  when  people 
are  jostling  and  thronging  him  in  the  crowded 
path  ;  lonelier  often  in  the  tumultuous  and  ex- 
citing city,  where  men  are,  than  when  standing 
afar  on  the  white  sands  of  the  deserted  coast,  or 
climbing,  amidst  mountain  sheep,  some  voiceless 
and  mist-bound  mountain  top.  The  life  of  spir- 
itual desire  is  not  the  life  of  the  world  ;  to  pre- 
fer it  is  to  prefer  what  few  count  desirable  ;  to 
live  that  life  is  to  think  as  the  majority  do  not 
think.  The  price  of  living  it  is  loneliness  ;  it 
is  to  know  that  many  think  you  different,  that 
some  think  you  foolish  ;  it  is  to  realize  that 
your  sentiments  are  the  sentiments  of  the  minor- 
ity ;  and  that  if  you  are  lonely  you  cannot  ex- 
pect much  sympathy  from  your  friends.  It  is 
a  fair  question  :  "  Is  the  life  worth  the  loneli- 
ness?" I  do  not  profess  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion ;  but  some  could  answer  it  who,  knowing 
to  its  full  extent  that  form  of  loneliness,  have 
also  known  aU  that  can  come  in  that  loneh- 


THE  FAITHFUL    COMPANION.  270 

ness  to  make  one  cry  out  with  a  joy  that  is  like 
no  other  joy,  "  And  yet  I  am  not  alone  !  " 

"  And  yet  I  am  not  alone."  Happy  is  he 
who  can  speak  thus  concerning  the  Presence 
of  Christ  amidst  the  loneliness  of  advancino^ 
years.  I  do  not  speak  only  of  old  age.  Of  its 
peculiar  experiences  I  knov/  nothing  save  as 
they  have  been  communicated  to  me  by  the 
ao'ed.  Those  communications  convince  me  that 
Avhat  I  am  about  to  say  will  be  realized  as  true 
by  all  who  are  older,  as  well  as  by  many  who 
are  younger,  than  myself.  Advancing  years 
are  the  portion  of  all  of  us.  Years  advance 
for  us  all.  And  in  their  advance  they  bring 
startling  changes,  —  changes,  many  of  them, 
startHng  by  reason  of  their  suddenness  ;  and 
many  of  them  no  less  startling  because  they 
have  come  slowly.  For  from  time  to  time  we 
arise  astonished,  and  as  it  were  take  inventories 
of  the  changes  in  others  and  in  ourselves.  We 
reckon  them  up  in  altered  countenances,  in  ad- 
ded stature,  in  whiter  hair,  in  feebler  steps ;  we 
reckon  them  up  in  the  changes  of  residence 
and  the  history  of  those  changes ;  in  new  homes 
founded,  in  old  homes  broken  up  or  break- 
ing. We  reckon  them  up  in  empty  cribs,  and 
vacant  chairs ;  in  the  sudden  translation  of 
glorious  friends ;  in  mounds,  small  and  great. 


2S0  THE  FAITHFUL   COMPANION. 

where  buried  treasures  lie.  We  reckon  them 
up  in  life  lessons  learned,  o£  patience,  of  obe- 
dience, of  renunciation,  of  silence.  And  in 
these  involuntary  inventories  of  changes,  how 
keenly  at  times  we  feel  the  loneliness  of  ad- 
vancing" years  !  How  many  feel  it  who  are  not 
old,  or  nearly  old  !  How  many  who  now  hear 
me  have  been  led,  through  changes,  to  appre- 
ciate loneliness  on  earth  ;  to  realize  the  neces- 
sity for  a  blessed,  endming  life  beyond  the 
grave !  How  many  have  thought  out  in  sub- 
stance, if  they  have  not  also  breathed  out  in 
words,  those  matchless  stanzas  of  Montgom- 
ery :  — 

"  Friend  after  friend  departs; 
Who  Lath  not  lost  a  friend  ? 
There  is  no  union  here  of  hearts 

That  finds  not  here  an  end. 
Were  this  frail  world  our  only  rest, 
Living  or  dying,  none  were  blest. 

"  Beyond  the  flight  of  Time, 
Beyond  this  vale  of  death, 
There  surely  is  some  blessed  clime. 

Where  life  is  not  a  breath, 
Nor  life's  affections  transient  fire 
Whose  sparks  fly  upward  to  expire." 

Ag-ainst  that  inevitable  loneliness  of  advancing 
years  it  is  vain  to  protest.  No  human  hand 
can  stay  that  tide,  rising  steadily  over  dear 
landmarks  of  our  life.     What  strange  second- 


THE  FAITHFUL    COMPANION.  281 

meaning  follows  like  an  echo  those  great  words, 
"  We  shall  not  all  sleep,  but  we  shall  all  be 
changed  "  !  ^  Happy  they  who  through  the  flux 
of  years  can  know,  clearly  and  yet  more  clearly, 
by  His  very  contrast  with  our  life,  the  Change- 
less One,  the  Faithful  Companion,  Jesus  Christ, 
the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever !  Then 
may  the  waves  swing  far  apart  the  life-boats 
toiling  towards  the  shore,  and  yet  we  are  not 
alone. 

"  And  yet  I  am  not  alone  !  "  Happy  shall  he 
be  who  can  speak  thus  concerning  the  Presence 
of  Christ  amidst  the  loneliness  of  death.  None 
but  the  dead  know  all  the  loneliness  of  dying. 
The  dormant,  stolid  nature,  that  has  been  con- 
tent to  live  alone,  may  not  keenly  feel  it  lonely 
to  die.  But  he  who  has  loved  love,  whose  heart 
has  answered  to  it  as  the  wind-harp  answers  to 
the  breeze,  —  he  will  find  it  lonely  and  strange 
to  die.  To  the  verge  of  that  experience  Human 
Love  will  attend  us ;  her  arms  will  clasp  Hke  the 
Everlasting  Arms  beneath  our  fainting  head  ; 
when  hearing  is  gone,  her  eyes  will  look  speech- 
less messages  of  courage ;  when  sight  is  gone, 
her  hand  will  speak  by  silent  pressure.  But 
there  is  a  moment  beyond  which  we  must  walk 
alone.     Alone  ?    Ah  !  need  it  be  alone  ?     May 

1  1  Cor.  XV.  51. 


282  THE   FAITHFUL    COMPANION. 

we  not  trust  that  He  Who  was  before  all 
will  likewise  come  after  all,  to  speak  through 
the  senses  of  the  soul,  deathless  in  the  dying 
body  ?  May  we  not  trust  that  whosoever  liveth 
and  belie veth  in  Him  shall  not  suifer  the  lone- 
liness of  death ;  that  the  last  surprise  on  earth, 
the  first  in  heaven,  is  this  :  "  And  yet  I  am  not 
alone  "  ?    Amen. 


XVII. 

FORBEAKAKCE. 


XVII. 

FOEBEAEANCE. 

"  Suffer  it  to  be  so  now."  —  St.  Matthew  iii.  15. 

I  WISH  to  speak  about  Forbearance,  as  one 
of  those  elements  of  goodness  and  complete- 
ness for  which  we  are  certain  to  find  plenty  of 
use  in  the  daily  round  of  life,  and  concerning 
which  Christ  has  given  us  both  His  most  beauti- 
ful precept  and  His  most  Holy  Example.  The 
words  of  our  text,  when  understood,  —  that  is, 
when  seen  in  the  light  of  what  they  must  have 
meant  to  Christ  \Yho  spoke  them,  — are  sim- 
ply perfect  as  the  law  and  language  of  for- 
bearance ;  we  might  search  all  literature,  but 
in  vain,  to  find  anything  so  tender,  so  gentle, 
so  strong,  so  patient,  so  grandly  expectant,  as 
this  word  :  "  Suffer  it  to  be  so  now."  If  we 
saw  no  more  in  it  than  the  fact  that  it  is  the 
first  official  utterance  of  Christ,  it  would  be 
enough  to  rivet  our  attention.  Till  now,  from 
His  birth,  Jesus  has  been  preparing  for  His 
official  ministry.  Thirty  years  have  passed  in 
seclusion,  in  growing  up  to  the  point  where,  as 


286  FORBEARANCE. 


a  Man,  He  shall  take  up  His  public  work.  And 
when  he  begins,  behold  the  quietness  of  the 
Beginning !  No  proclamation  of  Himself,  of 
His  intentions,  His  claims.  No  brilHant  burst 
of  oratory,  announcing  that  a  new  star  had 
arisen,  a  new  prophet  dawned  upon  the  scene. 
Instead  of  this,  which  had  it  come  would  not 
have  been  unfitting,  the  first  official  word  of 
Jesus  is  the  quiet,  gentle,  melodious  doctrine 
of  forbearance :  "  Suffer  it  to  be  so  now." 

But  let  us  look  into  the  profounder  meaning 
of  the  sentence.  The  circumstance  calhnof  it 
forth  we  know  very  well.  We  remember  how 
the  mystic  forerunner,  the  brilliant  cousin  of 
our  Lord,  St.  John  the  Baptist,  was  fulfilling 
his  severe  mission.  Young,  vigorous,  perfect- 
ly disciplined,  absolutely  fearless,  with  a  grand 
and  thrilling  voice,  with  flashing  eyes,  with 
hand  outstretched  and  tense  as  if  grasping  the 
very  sword  of  judgment,  the  Baptizer,  the 
Prophet  of  Repentance,  proclaimed  the  king- 
dom of  God.  Unterrified  by  menace,  undis- 
mayed by  scorn,  he  summoned  all  men  to 
repentance,  flinging  in  the  face  of  Scribes  and 
Pharisees  epithets  that  stung  like  the  viper's 
fangs,  creating  a  reign  of  terror  in  the  hardened 
hearts  of  soldiers  and  publicans.  By  what 
stroke  of  mysterious  power    is  this  invincible 


FORBEARANCE.  287 

man  suddenly  broken  down  ?  The  fire  is 
quenched  from  his  eyes,  the  tense  muscles  re- 
lax, the  ringing  voice  is  broken  as  with  tears, 
and  he,  who  one  moment  since  was  urging  and 
commanding  every  one  to  come  and  be  im- 
mersed, is  now  making  feeble  gestures  of  pro- 
hibition, as  if  he  would  keep  from  entering  the 
water  a  Man,  young  as  himself.  Who  has  just 
approached.  Before  that  Man  he  breaks  as 
under  a  stroke  from  heaven,  —  pain,  protest, 
impatience,  struggle  in  his  face,  —  and  in 
broken  words  he  says  :  "  I  have  need  to  be 
baptized  of  Thee,  and  comest  Thou  to  me  !  " 
Intuition  had  revealed  to  him  the  Personality 
that  now  for  the  first  time  he  beheld,  and  be- 
fore the  Incarnation  of  Holiness,  Truth,  Wis- 
dom, and  Power,  for  which  the  ages  had  waited, 
he  felt  his  own  ministry  shrivelled  up  into 
nothing ;  and  the  thought  of  subjecting  the 
sinless  Christ  to  a  baptism  administered  by  his 
sinful  hands  —  a  baptism  that  had  no  meaning 
save  the  washing  away  of  sins  —  was  to  him 
intolerable,  a  false  position,  an  insufferable 
humiliation  of  his  own  spirit.  Can  we  not 
understand  this,  who  have  ever  had  come  to 
us  for  help  lives  that  we  felt  to  be  infinitely 
purer,  nobler,  nearer  to  God  than  our  own,  — 
souls  that  could  do,  nay  that  were  doing,  for  us 


288  FORBEARANCE, 

more  than  we  could  ever  do  for  them  ?  Has 
not  our  invohmtary  sense  of  truth  revealed  to 
us  their  power,  so  far  beyond  our  own,  and 
extorted  the  silent  cry :  "  I  have  need  to  be 
baptized  of  thee,  and  comest  thou  to  me  !  " 
Their  eyes  meet,  the  two  marvellous  children 
of  prophecy,  nurtured  apart,  and  now  brought 
together  at  the  Jordan  -  side  of  discipline. 
They  know  each  other  now  with  a  perfect 
comprehension,  and  Christ's  intensely  earnest 
and  quiet  word  to  him  is :  "  Suffer  it  to  be  so 
now,  for  thus  it  becometh  us  to  fulfil  all  right- 
eousness." It  was  enough.  ''  Then  he  suffered 
Him."  Protest  knelt  in  obedience,  and  the  dis- 
ciplined life  did  for  Another  what  it  craved 
might  have  come  to  itself. 

But  in  the  words  of  Jesus,  '^  Suffer  it  to  be 
so  now,"  far  deeper  meaning  is  there  than  that 
which  applies  to  John.  Think  of  the  humilia- 
tion of  the  baptism  of  repentance  for  the  sin- 
less Saviour;  think  of  the  yoke  to  which,  so 
quietly  and  gently.  He  was  then  bowing  His 
neck ;  think  of  the  forbearance  of  that  Heart 
which  could  go  so  meekly  in  among  sinners, 
and  take  part  in  the  ordinance  which  im- 
plied and  signified  sin  !  How  revolting  to  us 
is  the  insinuation  of  a  sin  of  which  we  are 
truly  innocent !     Hoav  infinitely  more  painful 


FORBEARANCE.  289 

to  the  absolutely  perfect  Soul  of  Christ  must 
have  been  the  freezing  shock  of  that  baptism 
for  sin  !  Yes,  He  was  speaking  to  Himself  in 
that  hour  as  well  as  to  His  friend  when  He 
said  :  "  Suffer  it  to  be  so  now."  For  these 
dear  and  gentle  words  were  the  law  of  His 
Life  from  the  Childhood  to  the  sepulchre ;  al- 
ways suffering  it  to  be  as  it  was  then  and 
there  ;  because  in  that  forbearance,  that  re- 
fraining from  the  assertion  of  His  Own  Divine 
rights,  that  quietude  of  spirit  and  language 
and  action.  He  was  fulfilling  His  mission  of 
eternal  strength,  and  was  opening  a  way  by 
His  Example  for  the  encouragement  of  all 
.  who  love  Him,  and  who  are  finding  out  every 
day  in  their  own  daily  round  how  often  for- 
bearance is  the  one  thing  needful ;  how  many, 
many  things  in  life,  in  character,  they  must 
suffer  to  be  so  now,  if  they  ever  hope  or  ex- 
pect to  show  forth  the  Spirit  of  Jesus  in  a 
manner  that  shall  lead  others  to  reverence 
Him. 

Placing,  then,  clearly  before  us  the  great 
example  of  Him  concerning  Whose  forbearance 
Isaiah  prophesied,  "  He  is  brought  as  a  lamb  to 
the  slaughter,  and  as  a  sheep  before  her  shear- 
ers is  dumb,  so  He  openeth  not  His  mouth,"  ^ 

1  Isa.  liii.  7. 


290  FORBEARANCE. 

and  of  whom  St.  Peter  wrote,  "  When  He 
was  reviled,  He  reviled  not  again  ;  when  He 
suffered,  He  threatened  not,"  ^  I  wish  to  speak 
of  some  matters  not  unworthy  to  be  connected 
with  the  Example  and  Spirit  of  Jesus.  And  I 
do  specially  connect  them  with  Him,  that  those 
just  thoughtfully  beginning  a  Christian  life, 
and  not  sure  of  what  matters  may  proj)erly  be 
connected  with  it,  may  see  how,  if  any  one  has 
given  himself  to  the  Saviour,  trusting  in  the 
Blood  of  the  Cross  for  justification,  he  must 
make  Christ  the  central  Object  of  the  daily 
round,  and  live  through  all  common  and  un- 
common experiences  with  Him  in  view.  And 
also,  I  trust,  God  by  His  Spirit  may  greatly 
bless  this  thought  to  all  who  have  been  believ- 
ers for  a  longer  time,  so  that  if  our  religion 
has  become  a  formal  and  professional  and  theo- 
retical tiling,  remote  from  the  actual  daily 
round,  we  may  make  haste  penitently  to  seek 
a  new  deliverance  in  Christ  from  this  bondage 
of  formal,  unmeaning  religious  habits,  and  be- 
gin living  our  common,  hourly  life  in  the 
Presence  and  for  the  sake  of  our  Lord.  This 
law  of  "  Suffer  it  to  be  so  now  "  was  not  only 
constantly  reappearing  in  the  only  absolutely 
Perfect  Life  ever  lived  among  men,  it  has  close 

1  1  Pet.  ii.  23. 


FORBEARANCE.  291 

and  constant  relations  with  us.  And  may  I 
speak,  with  great  directness,  of  four  opportu- 
nities, given  more  or  less  to  all  of  us,  to  mani- 
fest our  reverence  for  Christ  bj  reverencing 
His  blessed  law  of  forbearance?  More  or 
less,  according  to  age,  station,  and  develop- 
ment of  the  higher  nature,  the  Lord  puts  into 
our  lives  the  opportunities  of  forbearance  to- 
ward the  inexperienced;  forbearance  toward 
the  unspiritual ;  forbearance  toward  the  un- 
reasonable ;  forbearance  at  home. 

Forbearance  toward  the  inexperienced.  In 
Hfe  there  is  nothing  that  so  makes  some  people 
strong,  self-controlled,  rich  in  thought,  as  ex- 
perience, attended  with  God's  blessing.  It 
has  done  for  them  more  than  ever  natural  en- 
dowment did  for  them.  It  has  admitted  them, 
often  by  painfully  steep  and  rough  ways,  into 
new  realms  of  knowledge ;  it  has  educated 
them  in  heart  and  mind  ;  it  has  added  new 
gifts,  apparently,  to  their  lives ;  and  could 
they,  as  they  stand  to-day,  clothed  in  their 
long  and  rich  robes  of  experience,  be  per- 
mitted to  look  back  and  see  themselves  as  they 
once  stood,  weak  and  shivering  and  unclothed, 
on  the  threshold  of  Hfe,  they  would  not  know 
themselves,  nor  believe  that  ever  they  were  so 
poorly  furnished.    But  it  is  true  that  once  they 


292  FORBEARANCE. 


were  without  experience,  crude  and  unformed 
in  thought,  rash  in  opinion,  fickle  in  choice ; 
perpetual  transgressors,  perhaps  the  trial  and 
torment  of  dear,  patient  lives  now  at  rest  in 
God.  And  it  is  also  true  that  the  most  enrich- 
ing experiences  of  their  lives  have  come  to 
them  gradually,  unfolding  with  years,  and  de- 
veloping under  the  long  summer  growing  time 
of  favoring  opportunity.  Also,  some  of  the 
influences  which  have  done  the  largest  things 
for  them  were  of  a  kind  that  could  not  possi- 
bly be  understood  at  first,  that  in  the  order  of 
nature  must  remain  without  significance  till 
the  fulness  of  time  had  come.  To  those 
crowned  with  the  honorable  crown  of  age,  the 
thoughts,  opinions,  and  decisions  which  early 
manhood  thinks  mature  must  seem  most  in- 
complete and  un grown.  But  there  is  far  more 
than  kindness,  there  is  the  Grace  of  Jesus,  in 
knowing  how  to  understand  and  make  allow- 
ance for  inexperience ;  how  and  when  to  say 
of  things  that  from  your  advanced  standpoint 
you  would  desire  changed,  "  Suffer  it  to  be  so 
now."  It  is  most  terrible  and  saddening  to 
think  of  the  mistakes  of  Inexperience,  the  life- 
long burdens  that  would  never  have  been  taken 
on  had  there  been  any  sense  of  consequences  ; 
but  it  is  not  less  terrible  to  think  of  the  mis- 


FORBEARANCE.  293 

takes  of  Experience  when  she  has  forgotten  the 
Saviour's  law  of  forbearance  in  dealing"  with 
the  ungrown  and  the  unformed.     Oh,  if  Ex- 
perience would  not    so    often    look    down    on 
Inexperience    with    contempt,    or  with  relent- 
less rebuke !      If    Experience    would    not    de- 
mand from  Inexperience  an  impossible  maturity 
of  conviction  and  preference  !     If  Experience 
would  devote  more  time  and  gentle  thought  to 
being  the  friend  and  companion  of  Inexperi- 
ence, entering  into  its  life,  putting   itself    in 
its  place,  discerning  between  the  permanent  and 
the  transitional  in  character,  between  the  qual- 
ities that  constitute  the  substance  of  life  and 
the  temporary  manifestations  of  incompleteness, 
concerning  which  our  Lord's  great  law  of  pa- 
tience and  love  is,  "  Suffer  it  to  be  so  now  " ! 
Dear  little  friend !       Shall  I  rebuke  you  be- 
cause   you    cannot    understand    some    things 
which  I,  at  your  age,  knew  not  in  the  least  ? 
because  you  cannot  feel    an  interest  in  some 
things  which    to  me,   at  your    age,   were  less 
than  nothing?     Shall  I  condemn  you  because 
you  are  fighting  more  bravely  than  I  the  very 
temptation    of   my  childhood?      Shall  I   look 
down  on  you  because  your  opinions  on  some 
point  do  not  comprehend  elements  you  could 
not  possibly  know  ?     God  forbid  !     Even  now. 


294  FORBEARANCE. 

in  many  things,  you  are  my  teacher;  in  many 
ways,  my  helper.  And  I,  i£  I  would  help  you, 
must  live  in  your  life,  and  if  I  would  see  you 
grow  up  a  Christian  I  must  wait  for  you ;  and 
that  which  is  ungrown  in  you  I  must  "  suffer 
it  to  be  so  now." 

Forbearance  toward  the  unspiritual.  By 
this  term  I  do  not  mean  to  describe  those  who 
have  no  sympathy  with  religious  things,  no 
portion  even  of  nominal  or  inherited  faith,  no 
acquaintance  with  the  Christian  effort.  My 
thought  is  of  lives  that  have  embraced  the 
form  of  religion  without  apparently  discerning 
its  spiritual  power,  that  have  received  the  Holy 
Name,  but  apparently  without  coming  to  any 
such  personal  knowledge  of  Jesus  as  leads  one 
to  wish  and  struggle  for  a  separateness  of  life 
from  many  incomplete  ways  in  order  to  be  free 
for  a  more  entire  consecration  of  thought, 
time,  and  labor  to  the  Blessed  Master.  These 
lives  are  contented,  happy,  untroubled  in  theu' 
combination  of  the  church  life  with  the  world 
life  ;  having  a  love  for  the  church,  but  a  love 
certainly  as  strong  for  all  the  most  distinctively 
worldly  indulgences,  and  no  conception  of  find- 
ing a  higher  joy  by  personally  renouncing  cer- 
tain self-indulgences  as  an  act  of  homage  to 
Christ,  and  as  a  means  of  setting  themselves 


FORBEARANCE.  295 

more  entirely  free  for  His  service.  Now,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  are  those  to  whom  the 
Grace  of  God  (certainly  it  is  this,  and  not  any 
goodness  of  their  own !)  has  brought  a  more 
advanced  conviction  in  spiritual  matters,  and 
they  personally  have  been  led  to  a  clearer  view 
of  their  Lord  and  His  claims,  in  consequence 
of  which  they  are  strengthened  to  take  a  posi- 
tion far  higher  spiritually  as  to  the  renuncia- 
tion of  self-indulgences  of  various  kinds  for 
Christ's  sake.  To  these,  blessed  of  God  in 
being  permitted  to  have  clear  convictions  on 
some  points  where  the  convictions  of  others  are 
much  clouded,  there  is  the  strongest  need  to 
commend  the  grace  of  forbearance  as  mani- 
fested towards  those  who  have  not  come  to  the 
same  state  of  mind,  and  who  make  no  response 
to  these  subjects  of  consecration.  To  these, 
to  whom  the  Lord  has  given  so  much  light, 
He  seems  to  say  :  "  Be  very  gentle  towards 
those  who  do  not  see  as  you  do,  nor  think 
as  you  do.  The  earnestness  of  consecration 
may  by  an  unconscious  change  in  an  unguarded 
moment  slip  into  self -righteousness,  and  that  is 
the  death  of  influence.  Remember  that  you 
yourself  have  only  had  this  light  and  these 
views  a  little  while,  perhaps.  How  long  you 
felt  as  others  feel,  and  suffered  the  old  life  to 


296  FORBEARANCE. 

carry  you  where  it  would  !  Remember  that 
special  mercy  you  received  and  are  receiving  ' 
in  the  influences  around  you,  and  that  others 
not  only  are  without  those  influences,  but  have 
many  which  are  unspeakably  adverse.  There- 
fore, w  hen  they  seem  to  you  to  be  far  off  from 
the  Ideal,  and  most  deficient  in  the  expression 
of  higher  views,  heed  My  Word :  Suffer  it  to 
be  so  now,  and  for  yourself  go  meekly  and 
earnestly  forward,  trying  so  to  live  in  and 
for  Me,  that  My  Spirit  may  be  able  to  work 
through  your  life  upon  others,  giving  them 
the  light  given  to  you.  And  some  of  them 
may  even  now  be  on  the  verge  of  decisions 
from  which  one  condemning  word  from  you 
would  drive  them  back  forever." 

Forbearance  toward  the  unreasonable.  These 
are  the  lives  which,  in  impatient  moments  we 
have  said,  were  sent  mto  our  paths  only  to 
try  us.  Let  us  not  justify  ourselves ;  let  us 
not  pretend  that  w^e  have  always  met  these 
lives  in  the  spirit  and  temper  of  Jesus.  Let 
us  rather  think  frankly,  even  if  sadly  and  in 
self-condemnation,  of  the  many  times  when 
we  have  resented  unreasonableness  in  others. 
That  it  was  natural  from  our  standpoint  to 
do  so,  one  cannot  deny ;  that  it  seemed  quite 
impossible    from  that    standpoint  to    avoid  it, 


FORBEARANCE.  297 

one   cannot   deny.      But,  alas !    the  fault  lay- 
in   our  standpoint,  which  was  much  too    low 
and  altogether  selfish.     Had  we  heen  standing" 
at  the    standpoint  of    the   Saviour,  we  would 
have  had  a  share  of  His  larger  knowledge  and 
of    His  larger  sympathy.       His  larger  know- 
ledo;e  would  have  told  us  that  these  unreason- 
able    lives  have  had   their    own    fountains   of 
bitterness,    stricken    open  it  may  be  by  rods 
held  in  hands  not  theii*  own ;  that  they  have 
seen  often  the  bhghting  of  dear  hopes ;  that 
they  were  not  thus  once,  —  not  till  after  some 
day  of  anguish  long  ago,  of  which  they  speak 
not,  when  they  saw  the  light  of  life  blown  out 
in  a  furious  storm,  or   engidfed  in   a  lonely 
grave.     From   that  day  they  never  were  the 
same.       And   vrhile    I    do    not    say   that  any 
trouble  gives  one  a  right  to  be  selfish  or  bitter, 
and  while  it  may  be  we,  too,  have  some  things 
in  our  lives  to  endure  in  silence,  I  do  say  that 
the  larger  sympathy  of  Jesus  makes  one  for- 
ofive  and  foro-et  to  the  end  the  bitterness  born 
of  sickness  or  sorrow,  and  to  "  suffer  it  to  be 


so  now." 


Forbearance  at  home.  Is  there  at  home 
some  httle  thing,  coming  up  now  and  then, 
to  wear  upon  your  calmness;  some  manifes- 
tation from   one  or  another  of  the  family  to 


298  FORBEARANCE. 


provoke  the  bitter  word,  the  resentful  act? 
Child !  parent !  "  Suffer  it  to  be  so  now." 
"  Now !  "  As  I  say  that  word  it  sounds  to  me 
Hke  a  bell  tolHng  from  a  tower  the  prophecy 
of  change.  "  Suffer  it  to  be  so  now ; "  put  up 
with  many  things  for  love's  sake.  It  will  not 
be  always.  It  may  not  be  long.  There  are 
empty  sheepf olds  on  the  moors ;  the  sheep  are 
scattered.  There  are  empty  homes  soon 
enough,  for  the  children  must  scatter,  and  the 
parents  must  say  "  Good-by."  While  we  may 
—  oh,  while  we  may  !  let  us  keep  together. 

"  The  hands  are  such  dear  hands  ; 
They  are  so  full  ;  they  turn  at  our  demands 
So  often;  they  reach  out 
With  trifles  scarcely  thought  about  ; 
So  many  times  they  do 
So  many  things  for  me,  for  you, 
If  their  fond  wills  mistake. 
We  may  well  bend,  not  break. 

"  They  are  such  fond,  frail  lips 
That  speak  to  us.     Pray,  if  love  strips 
Them  of  discretion  many  times. 
Or  if  they  speak  too  slow  or  quick,  such  crimes 
We  may  pass  by  ;  for  we  may  see 
Days  not  far  off  when  those  small  words  may  be 
Held  not  as  slow  or  quick,  or  out  of  place,  but  dear, 
Because  the  lips  are  no  more  here. 

"  They  are  such  dear,  familiar  feet  that  go 
Along  the  path  with  ours,  —  feet  fast  or  slow 
And  trying  to  keep  pace,  —  if  they  mistake. 
Or  tread  upon  some  flower  that  we  would  take 


FORBEARANCE.  299 

Upon  our  breast,  or  bruise  some  reed 

Or  crush  poor  Hope  until  it  bleed, 

We  may  be  mute, 

Kot  turning  quickly  to  impute 

Grave  fault  ;  for  they  and  we 

Have  such  a  little  way  to  go,  —  can  be 

Together  such  a  little  while  along  the  way,  — 

We  will  be  patient  while  we  may. 

"  So  many  little  faults  we  find  ! 
We  see  them,  for  not  blind 
Is  Love.     We  see  them,  but  if  you  and  I 
Perhaps  remember  them,  some  by  and  by 
They  will  not  be 

Faults  then  —  grave  faults  —  to  you  and  me, 
But  just  odd  ways  —  mistakes,  or  even  less  — 
Remembrances  to  bless. 
Days  change  so  many  things,  —  yes,  hours  ; 
We  see  so  differently  in  suns  and  showers. 
Mistaken  words  to-night 
May  be  so  cherished  by  to-morrow's  light 
We  may  be  patient  ;  for  we  know 
There  's  such  a  little  way  to  go." 


XVIII. 

THE  EECOGNITION  OF  DEPAKTED 
GREATNESS. 


XVIII. 

THE  RECOGNITION  OF  DEPARTED 
GREATNESS. 

Preached  on  the  Birthday  of  Washington,  Feb.  22, 1891. 

"  And  it  came  to  pass,  as  they  still  went  on  and  talked,  that, 
behold,  there  appeared  a  chariot  of  fire  and  horses  of  fire  and 
parted  them  both  asunder  ;  and  Elijah  went  up  by  a  whirl- 
wind into  heaven.  And  Elisha  saw  it,  and  he  cried,  My  father, 
my  father,  the  chariot  of  Israel  and  the  horsemen  thereof." — 
2  Kings  ii.  11,  12. 

On  this  historic  day  I  need  not  tell  you  that 
my  theme  is  The  Recognition  of  Departed 
Greatness.  We  have  heard  from  the  Old  Testa- 
ment the  magnificent  account  of  the  apotheosis 
of  Elijah.^  To  that  account  I  attempt  not  to 
add  one  word.  By  his  compelhng  eloquence 
the  unknown  narrator  has  drawn  us  all  into 
that  last  journey  of  the  prophet  and  the  pupil, 
and  we  have  seen  the  great  man  rise  to  take  his 
seat  on  high  among  the  godlike  victors.  Yet 
I  may  attempt  to  say  what  feature  in  that 
scene  most  deeply  moves  me  to-day.  It  is  not 
the  sweet  dignity  of  Elijah  as  he  comes  to  the 

1  2  Kings  ii.  1-13. 


304  DEPARTED   GREATNESS. 

hour  o£  his  reward.  It  is  not  the  extraordinary 
manner  o£  his  translation,  amidst  the  flashing 
vision  of  that  eloud-Hke  ear  of  Hght.  With 
stronger  attraction  than  to  these,  my  mind  is 
drawn  to  him  who  is  left  behind,  bereft  of  his 
hero-master,  and  stricken  with  the  solemn  sense 
of  life's  great  vocation  and  his  own  unfitness  to 
meet  it.  Yes,  it  is  to  the  spirit  and  to  the  man- 
ner of  the  young  Elisha's  recognition  of  departed 
greatness  my  mind  is  drawn  to-day  with  strong 
enthusiasm  and,  I  trust,  with  thoughts  appropri- 
ate to  this  anniversary,  —  a  day  which  no  true 
American  should  carelessly  pass  by. 

In  three  most  admirable  ways  Elisha,  as  a 
young  and  thoughtful  man,  shows  his  recogni- 
tion of  his  departed  master's  greatness.  First, 
in  terms  of  lofty  strength,  which  honor  his  own 
intelligence  even  as  they  honor  the  memory  of 
his  master,  he  worthily  describes  Elijah's  influ- 
ence upon  the  safety  and  the  destiny  of  Israel. 
When  the  car  of  light  had  borne  away  his 
hero,  the  first  passionate  impulse  of  that  ex- 
alted moment  was  to  acknowledge  the  true 
greatness  of  his  vanished  friend  :  ''  My  father, 
my  father,  the  chariot  of  Israel  and  the  horse- 
men thereof."  The  imagery  of  his  words  is 
the  instantaneous  reflection  of  the  brilliant 
vision.     As  in  a  dream  he  had  seen  the  hero 


DEPARTED   GREATNESS.  305 

lifted  to  the  flaming  chariot  of  triumph  ;  even 
Hke  that  impetuous  vehicle  of  light  looks,  to  his 
mind's  eye,  the  career  of  his  master,  sketched 
at  one  stroke  upon  his  quickened  memory : 
"  My  father,  my  father,  the  chariot  that  now 
bears  thee  to  God  is  like  thine  own  brio-ht  life. 
So  on  the  breast  of  thine  heroic  courao^e,  thine 
indomitable  patriotism,  thy  burning  faith,  thou 
didst  bear  thy  nation  onward  and  upward.  My 
father,  my  father,  the  chariot  of  Israel  thou." 

Second,  Elisha  recognizes  the  greatness  of  his 
departed  master  in  the  revulsion  of  feeling  to- 
ward fear  and  self-distrust.  "  He  took  hold  of 
his  own  clothes  and  rent  them  in  two  pieces.'* 
There  are  crucial  moments,  especially  in  youth, 
when  fear  is  nobler  than  courage,  and  self-distrust 
is  manlier  than  confidence.  Of  such  moments 
this  was  one.  In  the  first  passionate  moment 
following  the  translation,  thought,  like  a  tre- 
mendous wave,  had  rushed  far  up  the  shore  of 
memory.  There  it  broke,  and  returning  upon 
himself  dragged  him,  as  by  an  undertow,  into 
the  depths  of  fear.  Buried  in  an  agony  of  self- 
distrust,  he  is  conscious  now  only  of  the  dis- 
crepancy between  the  vanished  one  and  him- 
seK,  —  Elijah's  life  so  splendidly  developed,  his  . 
own  so  immature ;  Elijah's  grasp  upon  the 
forces  of  his  time  so  tenacious  and  so  master- 


306  DEPARTED   GREATNESS. 

fill,  his  own  so  uncertain  and  so  weak.  Afraid 
of  his  own  youth,  he  seizes  the  mantle  from  his 
shoulders  and  tears  it  in  pieces. 

Third,  Elisha  recognizes  the  greatness  of  his 
departed  master  in  the  disposition  to  identify 
himself  with  the  sources  of  his  master's  power. 
Ere  yet  their  companionship  had  terminated,  he 
had  shown  this  disposition  by  that  reverence 
which  is  ever  one  of  the  most  beautiful  char- 
acteristics youth  can  exhibit.  "  Let  thy  spirit 
come  upon  me,  according  to  the  portion  of  a 
first-born  son."  So  had  he  prayed.  When  now 
he  stands  on  the  empty  field,  no  longer  the  ser- 
vant of  another,  but  called  to  work  out  his  own 
vocation,  he  is  true  to  his  prayer.  He  has  cast 
upon  the  ground  the  fragments  of  his  own 
mantle  in  manful  self -distrust.  Now  from  the 
ground  he  lifts  the  heaven -fallen  mantle  of 
his  hero,  and  with  it  appropriates  the  motive, 
the  faith,  the  godly  strength  of  his  hero's  life  ; 
linking  himself  henceforth,  in  grand  humility, 
to  the  best  that  had  gone  before  him.  And 
thus,  as  he  turns  aw^ay  from  his  master's  apo- 
theosis, to  shoulder  the  burdens  and  fight  the 
battles  of  his  own  time  and  place,  Elisha  sug- 
gests to  every  thoughtful  youth  what  is  the 
true  recognition  of  departed  greatness,  every- 
where and  always.    It  is  not  the  mere  formal 


DEPARTED   GREATNESS.  307 

service  of  commemoration ;  it  is  not  the  mere 
honoring  of  traditional  immortahty.  It  is  the 
broad  intelhofence  which  can  do  more  than  mas^- 
nify  the  present ;  even  which  can  measure  the 
gloriousness  of  characters  that  fought  the  noble 
light  and  won  the  amaranthine  crown  in  days, 
it  may  be,  far  in  advance  of  our  own.  It  is 
that  wholesome  and  modest  self-distrust,  that 
anxious  self-examination,  which  in  the  presence 
of  the  great  departed,  hushes  each  whisper  of 
boastf  ulness,  and  penetrates  the  conscience  with 
holy  fear.  It  is  that  reverential  inquiry  into 
the  sources  and  springs  of  departed  greatness, 
with  a  view  to  availing  ourselves  of  those 
sources,  and  drinking  at  those  springs;  that, 
though  the  great  depart,  the  essence  of  their 
greatness  may  rise  again  in  us.  These  obser- 
vations are  pertinent  not  only  to  the  sacred  and 
ancient  narrative  of  Elijah's  departure,  but  to 
the  deathless  associations  which  invest  this  day 
with  honor  in  the  calendar  of  the  republic. 

On  this  day,  one  hundred  and  fifty-nine  years 
ago,  in  a  homestead  at  Bridges  Creek,  upon  the 
wooded  banks  of  the  Potomac,  a  charming  and 
winning  child  was  born  to  Augustine  Washing- 
ton and  Mary  Ball,  his  beautiful  young  wife. 
It  is  almost  startlino^  to  reflect  that  that  fair  in- 
fant,  sleeping  and  smiling  out  the  summers  of 


308  DEPARTED   GREATNESS. 

his  infancy  beneath  the  wavhig  trees  on  the 
Virginian  river-bank,  and  learning  the  athletic 
sports  of  his  merry  boyhood  in  the  sweet  mead- 
ows of  the  Rappahannock,  a  century  and  a  half 
ago,  bears  the  name  which  sixty  millions  of 
people  venerate,  the  name  that  still  flashes  fire 
at  the  touch  of  sound.  "  My  father,  my  father, 
the  chariot  of  Israel  and  the  horsemen  there- 
of." Even  with  the  same  thought  of  which 
that  cry  was  the  expression,  we  think  of  him 
to-day,  —  the  Father  of  the  Nation  ;  the  Chariot 
of  our  Israel ;  bearing  the  cause  of  Liberty  on- 
ward and  upward,  on  the  breast  of  his  heroical 
courage,  his  indomitable  patriotism,  his  burn- 
ing faith.  Blest  in  his  birth,  blest  in  his  death, 
"  his  body  is  buried  in  peace,  and  his  name 
livetli  forevermore."  And  by  what  a  beautiful 
coincidence  of  history  are  we  doubly  reminded 
this  day  of  departed  greatness !  On  the  eve 
of  the  Birthday  of  Washington,  one  of  the 
bravest,  truest  heroes  of  the  later  time  has  been 
laid  in  the  cfi'ave.^  Henceforward  the  Burial  of 
Sherman  and  the  Birth  of  Washington,  locked 
in  the  coincidence  of  history,  will  draw  appro- 
priately near  to  one  another  two  names  repre- 
senting in  common  forceful  character,  devotion 

1  General  William  Tecumseh  Sherman,  U.  S.  A,,  was  buried 
on  February  21,  1891. 


DEPARTED  GREATNESS.  309 

to  duty ;  valor,  magnanimity.  And  as  these 
two  heroes  ( now,  we  earnestly  hope,  made 
known  to  one  another  in  a  better  world ),  —  as 
these  two  heroes  lead  our  thoughts  to  contem- 
plate departed  greatness,  how  quickly  do  our 
memories  add  the  names  of  others  who  within 
the  last  few  years  have  gone  over  to  the  Invisi- 
ble !  Whichever  way  we  look,  we  are  made 
conscious  that  gifted  and  broad-minded  and 
valorous  and  earnest  spirits  are  leaving  us,  con- 
tinually leaving  us;  summoned,  we  believe,  to 
pursue  higher  callings  in  loftier  spheres.  In 
every  calling  great  lights  are  being  extin- 
guished and  great  vacancies  are  being  created. 
From  the  bench  and  the  bar,  from  positions  of 
state,  from  the  army,  from  the  navy,  from  the 
realms  of  finance  and  of  philanthropy,  from  the 
world  of  authorship,  from  the  ministry  of  Christ, 
from  the  schools  of  line  arts  and  of  medicine, 
the  leaders  of  a  generation  are  retiring,  having 
done  all  save  to  tell  us  who  shall  take  their 
places.  And  what  shall  we  do  ?  Shall  we  only 
stand  mute  with  the  sense  of  loss  as  the  lights 
go  out,  or  crying  passionately  after  each  de- 
parting hero,  "  My  father,  my  father,  the 
chariot  of  Israel  and  the  horsemen  thereof "  ? 
Nay,  let  the  example  of  EKsha  teach  us.  The 
question  of  the  hour  is  on  the  character  and 


310  DEPARTED   GREATNESS. 

the  aspiration  of  the  younger  men.  What  may 
we  hope  for  from  them  ?  What  are  their  own 
holies  and  what  their  aspirations  ? 

As  I  ask  this  question,  "  What  are  the  young 
men  doins:?      Are  thev  in  trainino;  for  these 

O  I/O 

places  ?  Will  they  fill  them  in  their  time  ?  "  I 
hear  two  answers  coming  back  from  opposite 
quarters,  and  neither  one  of  these  answers 
seems  the  truest  or  the  wisest.  On  the  one 
hand  I  hear  the  answer  of  depression,  uttering 
that  saddest  of  all  words,  "  Degeneration  ;  " 
saying,  "  The  sons  are  falling  below  the  stat- 
ure of  their  fathers  in  physique,  in  intellectual 
fibre,  in  moral  vigor.  They  are  more  afraid  of 
hardship  and  more  in  love  with  ease  ;  more  nar- 
row, more  selfish,  more  self-indulgent,  more 
frivolous,  more  materialistic.  We  cannot  look 
for  another  Washington,  nor  for  another  Sher- 
man, for  not  only  they  but  the  making  of  them 
has  passed  away.  Henceforward  we  must  look 
for  a  civilization  more  splendid  than  the  world 
has  ever  seen,  but  inhabited  by  diminished  men, 
by  men  growing  to  believe  that  there  are  things 
which  j  ustif y  a  man  in  selhng  his  soul,  and  that 
a  man's  Hfe  may  consist  in  the  abundance  of 
the  things  that  he  possesseth." 

On  the  other  hand  I  hear  the  answer  of  over- 
confidence  ;  the  pride  which  issues  from  blended 


DEPARTED   GREATNESS.  311 

inexperience  and  materialism  ;  and  the  answer 
of  this  over-confidenc3  implies,  if  it  does  not 
say,  that  young  men  are  destined  surely  to  out- 
strip their  fathers  in  attaining  the  grand  prize 
of  Hfe.  The  answer  of  this  over-confidence 
entrenches  itself  within  the  fortifications  of  one 
single  and  supreme  argument,  and  from  that 
entrenchment  no  controversy  can  dislodge  it. 
That  argument  is  the  splendor  and  the  com- 
pleteness of  modern  civilization.  One  ventures 
to  breathe  a  doubt  as  to  whether  the  places 
of  the  great  departed  are  being  filled  or  only 
tenanted  by  their  successors ;  whether  examples 
of  oi-and  and  consummate  self-sacrifice  and  of 
the  worship  of  duty  are  as  frequent  as  of  old, 
and  the  answer  is  given  back,  "  Yes,  but  see 
our  civilization  ;  contrast  it  with  the  ways  in 
which  our  fathers  lived ;  see  how  swiftly  we 
do  things  ;  see  how  magnificently  we  do  things ; 
see  these  great  buildings  ;   see  our  wealth." 

Not  with  either  of  these  answers  am  I  in 
sympathy  ;  not  surely  with  the  answer  of  de- 
pression, which  sees  only  in  the  manhood  of 
our  younger  men  degeneration  from  the  paren- 
tal type ;  and  not,  as  surely,  with  the  answer  of 
over-confidence,  which  often  is  far  more  de- 
pressing than  the  other  by  reason  of  its  too  evi- 
dent exaltation  over  purely  material  abundance, 


312  DEPARTED   GREATNESS. 

and  its  unconscious  inability  even  to  conceive 
the  type,  the  esjmt,  of  true,  unselfish,  uncom- 
mercial greatness. 

Between  these  two  extremes  of  depression 
and  of  over-confidence  lies  the  true  position  for 
the  younger  men  to  take  as  the  fathers  are 
leaving  us  and  ascending  to  their  reward;  and 
I  would  to  God  my  words  might  be  blessed 
to-day,  as  a  revealing  of  the  truth  and  the  wor- 
thiness of  this  position  to  even  one  whose  views 
of  life  are  yet  open  to  influence,  and  as  an 
encouragement  to  those  who  have  already  taken 
this  position  as  their  own.  To  beheve  only  in 
degeneration  would  be  pessimism  ;  to  believe 
only  that  we  are  greater  than  our  fathers  be- 
cause in  some  points  we  live  more  comfortably, 
and  in  many  points  we  work  more  rapidly, 
would  be  to  indulge  a  most  shallow  fancy. 
From  each  of  these  positions  we  are  drawn  to  a 
better  and  a  wiser  mind  by  the  glorious  associ- 
ations of  this  day.  As  we  younger  men  think 
to-day  of  the  great  departed,  of  those  two  with 
whom  this  day  is  especially  connected  (with  one 
as  his  first  day  of  earthly  life,  with  the  other 
as  his  first  day  of  rest  in  the  grave) ;  as  we 
think  of  all  the  others  who  have  gone,  leaving 
vast  vacancies  for  us  to  fill,  vast  ministries  for 
us  to  perpetuate ;  as  we  cry  after  them,  "  Our 


DEPARTED  GREATNESS.  313 

fathers,  our  fathers,  the  chariots  of  Israel  and 
the  horsemen  thereof ;  "  and  as  we  ask  our- 
selves, "  Are  we  training  for  their  places  ?  Are 
we  worthy  of  them?"  —  let  the  recognition  of 
departed  greatness  draw  us,  with  Elisha,  to  the 
true  position.  The  recognition  of  greatness  is 
next  in  rank  to  the  possession  of  it.  And  the 
true  position  is  one  of  wholesome  courage 
mixed  with  wholesome  fear.  This  is  a  great 
time  in  which  to  live.  And  every  man  of 
thought  is  botind,  with  wholesome  courage,  to 
recognize  its  greatness.  There  are  conditions 
promoting  success  denied  to  our  fathers.  The 
more  shame  to  us  if,  with  a  fair,  fighting 
chance,  we  do  not  succeed.  There  are  grand 
activities,  present  and  accessible,  which  were  not 
dormant,  but  uncreated  and  unimagined,  when 
Washington  finished  his  lifework,  and  when 
Sherman  was  born.  There  are  grand  liberties 
of  speech  and  liberties  of  action ;  there  are 
grand  vocations  which  to  men  of  spirit  are 
callings  in  very  deed,  —  callings  Divine,  which 
angels  might  envy  but  cannot  share.  Ah  !  if 
there  is  degeneration  anywhere,  it  is  not  in  the 
possibilities  for  the  men,  but  in  the  men  for 
the  possibilities. 

But  it  is  also  a  time  of  grievous  peril,  —  peril 
beyond  language  for  the  men  who  have  not  in 


314  DEPARTED  GREATNESS. 

youth  caught  their  inspiration  directly  and  sin- 
cerely from  that  Greatest  of  the  Ascended  He- 
roes, even  from  Him  "  Who  is  the  Way  and  the 
Truth  and  the  Life."  ^  I  hardly  know  how  they 
can  escape  degeneration,  for  the  peril  of  the  age 
has  three  modes  of  expression,  and  through  one 
or  another  of  these  modes  it  seems  certain  to 
capture  and  diminish  the  man  whose  eye  is  not 
set  upon  the  far-beaming  Face  of  Christ.  The 
peril  of  the  age  is  materialism.  And  its  three 
modes  of  expression  are  the  'Snaterialism  of 
pleasure,  the  materiaHsm  of  business,  the  ma- 
terialism of  unbelief. 

The  materialism  of  pleasure  !  He  who  is 
captured  by  it  is  degenerated  toward  the  stat- 
ure of  a  pigmy  manhood,  soft,  effeminate,  fee- 
bly self-indulgent ;  his  thoughts  revolve  in 
orbits  more  and  more  circumscribed ;  he  loses 
steadily  the  glorious  force  centrifugal  which 
pours  outward  from  himself  towards  others ; 
he  becomes  centripetal ;  energy  works  inward, 
growing  self -absorbent,  —  a  diminishing  man  ! 

The  materialism  of  business !  He  who  is 
captured  by  it  grows  in  inverse  ratio  to  his  suc- 
cess. Business  must  increase,  but  he  must  de- 
crease.; each  year  more  selfish,  more  pitiless, 
more  proportionately  illiberal.     Life  means  for 

1  St.  Jno.  xiv.  6. 


DEPARTED   GREATNESS.  315 

him  more  and  more  its  equivalent  in  dollars ; 
and  the  symmetry  of  manhood  perishes  through 
the  abnormal  growth  of  the  commercial  instinct. 
The  materialism  of  unbelief  !  He  who  is 
captured  by  it  falls  into  the  consummate,  secret 
snare  of  modern  degeneration.  Nothing  robs 
life  of  potential  heroism  more  certainly  than 
the  surrender  of  faith  in  the  spiritual  and  the 
unseen.  Nothing  diminishes  the  size  of  charac- 
ter like  the  renunciation  of  faith's  eternal  and 
infinite  aspirations.  The  materialism  of  unbe- 
lief not  only  puts  out  the  lamps  and  the  altar 
fire  within  the  sanctuary,  it  builds  up  with  dead 
masonry  eastward  and  westward  the  windows 
through  which  we  have  looked  out  upon  the 
Face  of  God.  "My  father,  my  father,  the 
chariot  of  Israel  and  the  horsemen  thereof ; 
of  such  as  thee  are  the  true  heroes  made,  — 
who  through  faith  subdued  kingdoms,  wrought 
righteousness,  obtained  promises,  stopped  the 
mouths  of  lions ;  out  of  weakness  were  made 
strong,  waxed  valiant  in  fight,  turned  to  flight 
the  armies  of  the  aliens."     Amen. 


XIX. 
THE  GLORY  OF  YOUNG  MEN. 


XIX. 
THE  GLORY  OF  YOUNG  MEN. 

Preached  at  Williams  College,  IVIarch  8,  1891. 

"  The  glory  of  young  men  is  their  strength."  —  Proverbs 
XX.  29. 

Everything  which  God  has  made  possesses, 
when  in  its  normal  state,  a  glory  or  a  beauty 
of  its  own,  and  peculiar  to  itself.  "  There  is 
one  glory  of  the  sun,  and  another  glory  of  the 
moon,  and  another  glory  of  the  stars."  ^  The 
glory  of  the  sea  is  its  depth,  its  immensity, 
and  its  power.  The  glory  of  the  flower  is  its 
coloring  and  its  fragrance.  The  glory  of  the 
opal  is  the  mysterious  water  in  its  heart,  gleam- 
ing like  the  reflection  of  fire.  The  glory  of 
little  children  is  their  profound  guilelessness 
and  their  sacred  helplessness.  The  glory  of 
the  aged  is  their  chastened  sweetness,  their 
subduing  calmness,  their  "  gray-haired  might." 
"  The  glory  of  young  men  is  their  strength." 

Strength  is  a  relative  term  in  respect  of  de- 
1  1  Cor.  XV.  41. 


320  THE  GLORY   OF  YOUNG  MEN. 

gree.  The  buffalo  as  he  plunges  over  the 
prairie  is  strong ;  the  lark  as  he  rises  for  his 
matin  hymn  is  strong;  the  forester  as  he 
swings  the  ponderous  axe  is  strong ;  the  bar- 
nacle as  it  clings  to  the  ship's  bottom  is  strong. 
Strength  is  a  variable  term  in  respect  of  ap- 
plied meaning.  The  advocate  makes  a  strong 
argument  for  his  client.  The  physician  ad- 
ministers a  strong  tonic  to  his  patient.  The 
composer  creates  a  strong  melody.  The  lock- 
smith forges  a  strong  bolt.  The  artist  sketches 
a  strong  profile. 

In  dealing  with  a  word  so  relative  and  so 
variable  as  the  word  "  strength/'  what  shall 
determine  the  sense  in  which  it  is  used  when 
presented  to  us  as  the  peculiar  ornament 
and  beauty  of  young  men?  The  nature  of 
the  thing  to  which  the  term  is  applied  must 
fix  the  sense  in  which  the  term  is  used.  We 
do  not  confuse  the  strength  of  the  buffalo  with 
the  strength  of  the  lark,  because  we  carry  dis- 
tinct impressions  concerning  the  natures  of 
these  two  creatures.  "  The  glory  of  young 
men  is  their  strength."  If  we  take  young 
manhood  as  a  work  of  God,  and  consider  it  in 
its  normal  state,  of  what  nature  do  we  find  it 
to  be,  —  a  simple  nature  or  a  complex  nature  ? 
The  block  of  quartz  has  a  simple  nature ;  we 


THE   GLORY  OF  YOUNG  MEN.  321 

may  hammer  it,  crush  it,  weigh  it,  and  we  do 
not  find  it  in  the  last  analysis  to  possess  any 
other  nature  than  the  nature  of  matter.  The 
tropical  orchid  has  a  simple  nature.  We  may 
dissect  it,  magnify  it,  or  propagate  it,  but  it 
never  discloses  to  us  any  other  nature  than  the 
nature  of  matter.  But  when  we  take  a  good 
normal  specimen  of  young  manhood  and  ex- 
amine it,  we  find  mstantly  in  our  specimen  the 
signs  of  a  complex  nature. 

We  find,  first  of  all,  a  physical  nature :  a 
nature  of  matter ;  a  bodily  personalit}^,  which, 
in  the  normal  specimen,  corresponds  to  one  of 
the  many  meanings  of  strength,  and  which, 
in  so  far  as  it  in  any  measure  approximates 
completeness,  is  approximately  strong.  It  is 
a  splendid  organism,  fearfully  and  wonder- 
fully made,  capable  of  uses  that  touch  almost 
every  point  in  the  entire  arc  of  possibil- 
ity, from  the  most  sacred  to  the  most  pro- 
fane. We  find,  in  the  second  place,  a  nature 
of  feeling  and  impulse  and  reason,  a  mental 
and  emotional  personality,  which  in  the  normal 
specimen  corresponds  to  another  of  the  many 
meanings  of  strength.  In  this  nature  {I.  e.  in 
the  mental  and  emotional  man)  lie  the  will,  the 
natural  affections,  the  reasoning  powers ;  and,  as 
we  can  immediately  see,  —  although  this  is  not 


322  THE   GLORY  OF  YOUNG  MEN. 

the  body,  although  we  can  think  o£  the  mental 
man  apart  from  the  physical  man,  —  these  two 
natures  are  in  fact  intricately  connected. 

We  find,  in  the  third  place,  a  nature  of 
spirit :  a  spiritual  nature,  which,  in  the  nor- 
mal specimen,  is  caj)able  of  receiving  impres- 
sions from  God,  and  of  communicating  with 
Him  through  an  answering  life ;  a  nature 
which  God  can  work  upon  by  His  Spirit,  find- 
ing in  it  capacities  to  which  He  can  reveal 
truths  that  no  beino-  who  had  not  this  nature 
could  possibly  understand.  In  the  physical 
nature  there  are  elements  which,  to  some  ex- 
tent, other  animals  hold  in  common  with  man. 
In  the  mental  and  emotional  nature  there  are 
apparently  elements  of  feeling  and  even  of  in- 
tention which,  in  some  rudimentary  sense  that 
we  may  not  be  able  to  define,  certain  animals, 
like  dogs  and  horses,  seem  to  possess  in  com- 
mon with  man.  But  in  his  spiritual  nature 
man  has  a  nature  all  his  own.  This  is  his 
Tivev^a  —  his  spirit,  —  which  answers  to  the 
Spirit  of  God,  and  which  constitutes  him, 
whether  or  not  he  has  become  in  character  at 
all  like  God,  a  creature  who  is  made  in  the 
Image  of  God. 

As  a  result  of  our  investigations    we  find, 
therefore,  that  this  normal  specimen  of  young 


THE  GLORY  OF  YOUNG  MEN.  323 

manhood  which  we  are  for  the  present  examin- 
ing has  not  a  simple  nature,  like  the  block  of 
quartz  or  like  the  tropical  orchid.  He  has  a 
complex  nature,  which  is  like  himself,  and  like 
himself  alone,  in  this,  that  it  is  a  threefold 
nature,  or  a  triad  of  natures,  —  three  natures  in 
one  person.  He  is  the  body-man,  with  full 
bodily  powers.  He  is  the  mind-man,  with  will 
and  feeling  and  thought-life.  He  is  the  spirit- 
man,  with  the  potential  gift  of  understanding 
the  communications  of  God,  and  of  communi- 
catinof  with  God  in  his  turn.  This  beino^  what 
he  is,  this  being  the  nature  of  young  manhood, 
if  "  the  glory  of  young  men  is  their  strength  " 
that  strength  must  be  of  an  order  corresponding 
to  the  nature  of  that  creature  of  whom  it  is 
the  characteristic  and  the  peculiar  glory.  The 
glory  of  young  men  in  their  normal  state,  as 
God  means  them  to  be,  must  therefore  be  a 
strength  that  corresponds  in  its  expansiveness 
to  the  complex  nature  of  which  it  becomes,  in 
the  order  of  God's  choice,  the  most  beauteous 
ornament.  It  must  be  a  strength  expressing 
itself,  so  far  as  possible,  in  the  completeness  of 
physical  life,  so  far  as  possible  in  the  com- 
pleteness of  mental  and  emotional  life,  so  far 
as  possible  in  the  completeness  of  spiritual  life. 
Now,  if  we  have  thus  far  reasoned  correctly,  we 


324  THE   GLORY   OF  YOUNG  MEN. 

have  brought  the  subject  just  where  we  want  it 
to  be,  broadly  into  that  foreground  where  we 
can  look  upon  young  manhood  in  the  fulness 
of  its  great  threefold  life. 

And  here  we  may  with  safety  leave  the  sub- 
ject for  a  brief  moment,  whilst  we  turn  to  define 
strength  ;  and  then  we  will  proceed  to  apply 
the  defined  word  to  the  threefold  manhood  of 
young  men  as  their  peculiar  glory. 

Any  lover  of  the  meanings  of  words  will 
understand  the  fascination  of  tracking  a  great 
word  back  to  its  birthplace.  It  awakens  some- 
what of  the  same  feehnofs  which  we  have  had 
on  ^dsiting  the  birthplace  of  a  great  man.  At 
least  twenty-five  different  Hebrew  words  are, 
in  the  Old  Testament,  translated  into  the  single 
English  equivalent,  "  strengi:h."  As  you  may 
suppose,  every  possible  shade  of  meaning  is 
thus  presented.  The  word  which  we  find  in 
our  text,  descriptive  of  that  peculiar  type  of 
strength  which  is  the  glory  of  young  men,  is  a 
singularly  suggestive  and  a  singularly  mag- 
nificent word.  In  the  three  languages,  the 
Arabic,  the  Syriac,  and  the  Hebrew,  we  trace 
back  the  cognate  forms  of  this  word,  and  the 
parent  stem  of  all  we  find  to  be  a  very  ancient 
verb,  meaning  "  to  pant,"  as  one  pants  for  breath 
who  is  exerting  every  power  in  some  great  con- 


THE   GLORY    OF  YOUNG  MEN.  325 

test.  Instantly  a  picture  is  brought  before  the 
mind,  that,  in  the  days  in  which  we  live,  is 
intelligible  to  every  young  man ;  a  picture  as 
of  one  who  has  set  himself  a  difficult  task 
which  will  call  for  every  ounce  of  strength  and 
of  pluck  within  reach ;  who  has  brought  into 
play  his  very  best  energies ;  who  is  honestly 
and  gloriously  taxed,  and  whose  breath  comes 
quick  with  earnestness  as  he  faces  the  issue 
before  him,  determined  to  dare  and  to  do,  even 
to  the  uttermost.  That  is  the  stem  of  this 
strong  word,  —  the  panting  for  breath  which 
comes  with  all  exacting  and  resolute  effort; 
and  then,  as  we  trace  the  word  down,  we  find 
that  it  always  contemplates  a  victory  of  some 
sort  to  be  won.  It  is  not  the  strenoth  of  mere 
dogged  endurance  apart  from  any  special  end 
in  view.  It  keeps  the  end  in  view,  always 
an  overcoming,  always  a  victory  in  sight.  It 
is  the  strength  of  him  who  pants  to  be  a  con- 
queror. And  this,  says  the  writer  of  the  Prov- 
erbs, —  this  is  the  glory  of  young  men.  As  the 
sun  has  its  peculiar  glory  of  light  and  warmth ; 
as  the  sea  has  its  peculiar  glory  of  immensity 
and  depth ;  as  childhood  has  its  glory  of  guile- 
lessness ;  as  age  has  its  glory  of  reverend  and 
chastened  dignity,  —  so  young  manhood,  in 
its   normal  state,  has   for  its  .peculiar  beauty 


326  THE   GLORY   OF  YOUNG  MEN. 

and  charm  that  strength  which  is  the  panting 
of  the  earnest  and  resolute  hfe  to  win  its 
victory. 

If  this,  then,  is  the  nature  of  that  strength, 
a  panting  for  victory,  which  is  the  glory  of 
young  men,  it  is  our  privilege  to  point  out 
how  this  selfsame  principle  of  strength  will, 
in  the  absolutely  normal  life;  reveal  itself  in 
each  of  the  three  natures  which,  in  a  manner 
so  unique  and  so  sublime,  are  incorporated  in 
the  personality  of  young  manhood.  And  as 
we  proceed  we  shall  see  how  evidently  this 
glorious  strength-gift,  this  panting  after  vic- 
tory which  is  the  peculiar  charm  of  a  rightly 
constituted  young  manhood,  is  God's  wise  pro- 
vision to  fit  young  manhood  to  cope  with  the 
difficulties  it  must  encounter ;  to  live  above 
the  temptations  by  which  it  must  be  assailed; 
to  win  the  prizes  which  shall  enrich  all  the 
after-Hfe.  God  has  given,  as  youth's  peculiar 
vantage,  this  panting  after  victory,  because,  in 
this  world  of  adversities,  such  are  the  stum- 
bling-blocks, physical,  mental,  spiritual,  in  the 
path  of  success,  such  are  the  odds  against  suc- 
cess, it  is  necessary  to  pant  for  victory  before 
you  can  gain  it. 

This  panting  for  victory  reveals  itself  in  the 
threefold  constitution  of  young  manhood.     In 


THE   GLORY  OF   YOUNG  MEN.  327 

the  physical  nature  it  reveaJs  itself  in  the  love 
of  exercises  and  contests  that  test  nerve  and 
muscle,  and  in  the  reverent  preservation  of 
health.  It  is  a  great  pity  that  any  excesses 
or  other  perversions  of  athletic  sports  should 
have  drawn  down  upon  them  unfavorable  criti- 
cisms from  any  quarter,  for  in  their  essence, 
in  their  relatioip  to  the  glory  of  young  men, 
and  in  their  connection  with  a  complete  philo- 
sophy of  young  manhood,  athletic  sports  and 
exercises  are  truly  noble  and  truly  necessary. 
Effeminate  and  deficient  would  be  the  people 
that  had  no  outdoor  games,  and  the  race  of 
young  men  who  took  no  interest,  direct  or  in- 
dh'ect,  in  physical  contests  and  exercises.  If 
we  spoke  only  of  the  effect  of  these  contests 
in  creatino;  a  sentiment  which  encouraoes  the 
more  careful  preservation  of  health,  we  should 
be  amply  justifying  their  continuance :  for 
when  one  thinks  of  the  perils  which  must  be 
met  even  by  the  young  man  who  has  no  self- 
destroying  habits ;  when  we  remember  how 
many  in  their  early  years,  and  in  exacting  and 
unfavorable  occupations,  must  fight  hereditary 
taint,  fever-germs,  bad  food,  overwork,  accidents, 
and  God  only  knows  what  more  beside,  —  it  is 
good  to  have  a  sentiment  in  the  air  that  even 
physical  strength  is  the  glory  of  young  men. 


328  THE   GLORY   OF   YOUNG  MEN. 

But  I  see  much  more  than  this  in  that  panting 
for  victory  which,  in  the  young  man  of  normal 
condition,  leads  him  in  some  form  or  other, 
direct  or  indirect,  to  take  interest  in  things 
that  test  nerve  and  try  muscle,  and  that  main- 
tain health.  This  enthusiasm  for  physical 
contests  and  exercises  is  God's  law  working  it- 
self out  in  one  branch  of  liie  young  man's 
nature ;  and  even  if  sickness  or  deformity  have 
shut  him  out  from  these  fine  contests  and 
these  exhilarating  exercises,  he  can  show  that 
he  is  true  in  spirit  to  that  law  by  loving  and 
applauding  the  victories  of  others. 

In  the  mental  and  emotional  nature  this 
strength  which  is  the  panting  for  victory  re- 
veals itseH  in  the  intellectual  and  financial 
ambitions  and  in  the  pure  affections  of  ardent 
youth.  The  glory  of  young  men  is  the 
strength  of  their  ambitions  and  the  strength 
of  their  affections.  It  is  normal  to  aspire.  It 
is  normal  to  love.  The  resohite  worker  and 
the  resolute  lover  are  alike  fulfilling  ends  for 
which  they  were  created.  These  mighty  and 
holy  efforts  wrought  through  the  ambitions 
and  throuofh  the  affections  are,  in  so  far  as 
they  accord  with  truth  and  with  virtue,  the 
operations  of  a  law  which  sets  at  last  upon  the 
head  of  young  manhood  the  crown  of  honor 


THE   GLORY   OF  YOUNG  MEN.  329* 

and  dignity.  This  panting  after  victory  in  the 
realm  of  his  life  which  contains  the  will,  the 
affections,  the  reasoning  powers  ;  this  earnest- 
ness which  becomes  at  length  written  upon  the 
very  countenance,  and  which  stands  self-be- 
trayed in  the  very  tones  of  the  voice,  —  has  a 
meanino;  which  reaches  down  into  the  founda- 
tions  of  character,  and  which  clothes  young* 
manliood  with  a  beautiful  worthiness  and 
power.  It  is  the  happy  indication  that  he  has 
taken  the  first  step  toward  winning  the  victory, 
in  his  realizing  so  profoundly  that  there  is  a 
victory  to  be  won. 

In  the  spiritual  nature,  this  strength  which 
is  the  panting  for  victory  reveals  itself  in  the 
panting  of  the  soul  for  communion  with  God. 
The  s^Tumetry  of  Hfe  is  unknown  till  this  trans- 
pires. Can  we  call  it  strength  of  a  kind  that 
is  worthv  to  be  known  as  the  olorv  of  voung^ 
men,  until  this  strength  has  shown  itself  in  the 
highest  realm  of  the  man's  nature,  even  in  that 
realm  in  which  he  is  touched  by  the  Life  of 
God,  and  in  which  he  touches  God  in  return  ? 
Can  we  speak  of  the  man  as  strong,  as  panting 
after  \4ctory.  when  he  is  only  an  athlete,  or 
only  an  ambitious  man,  and  is  not  a  man  who 
is  reaching  outward  and  upward  for  fellowship 
with  his  Divine  Father  and  his  Divine  Saviour  ? 


330  THE   GLORY   OF   YOUNG  MEN. 

No,  I  cannot  call  him  strong.  I  may  admire 
him  as  a  fearless  athlete,  ever  ready  for  the 
contest  which  tries  nerve  and  muscle  ;  or  I  may 
admire  him  as  a  man  of  ambition,  or  as  a  man 
of  talent,  or  as  a  man  of  affection,  showing  in 
his  work  and  in  his  love  most  praiseworthy  ear- 
nestness ;  but  I  cannot  call  him  strong  when, 
on  that  side  of  his  nature  which  is  undoubtedly 
the  loftiest,  —  on  the  side  which  he  presents  to 
God,  —  he  appears  to  be  destitute  of  ambition, 
and  to  know  nought  of  what  it  means  to  pant 
for  that  victory  which  overcomes  the  world.  I 
call  him  strong,  with  that  strength  which  is  the 
glory  of  young  men,  who,  in  addition  to  all 
physical  and  mental  ambitions,  is  conscious  that 
he  pants  for  a  nobler  life  as  the  servant  of 
God ;  is  conscious  that  he  has  in  him  an  im- 
mortal principle  which  can  express  itself,  and 
which  can  fulfil  itself,  only  in  communion  with 
God ;  is  conscious  that  nothing  can  satisfy  his 
deepest  life,  or  bring  to  him  the  highest  con- 
ception of  victory,  but  the  growth  of  character 
into  the  likeness  of  God.  I  call  this  man 
strong  with  that  strength  which  is  the  essen- 
tial glory  of  young  men,  whether  as  yet  he  has 
found  peace  in  Christ  or  not.  I  call  him  strong, 
for  the  strength  is  manifesting  itself  in  his 
highest  selfhood,  in  the  panting  for  a  spiritual 


THE   GLORY  OF  YOUNG  MEN.  331 

victory.  He  may  not  yet  have  been  able  to 
get  his  hand  consciously  upon  Christ,  He 
may  to-day  be  only  groping  after  Christ,  or 
he  may  be  holding  Christ  very  bhndly  and 
uncertainly.  Nevertheless  he  is  panting  for 
victory,  and  he  is  awake  to  the  knowledge  of 
his  own  nature  as  one  bearing  God's  Image ; 
he  recognizes  the  claim  of  God  upon  his  life  ; 
he  realizes  that  "  none  of  us  liveth  to  himself 
and  no  man  dieth  to  himself."  ^  And  to-day, 
as  a  Christian,  or  as  a  man  desiring  to  be  a 
Christian,  he  is  conscious  of  a  great  spiritual 
purpose  which  has  arisen  in  his  life,  which  is 
suggesting  to  him  spiritual  action,  which  is 
beginning  to  shine  like  a  pillar  of  fire,  and  to 
lead  him  on  toward  spiritual  victory. 

Thus  have  we  considered  that  streno;th 
which  is  the  glory  of  young  men.  It  is  in 
essence  the  panting  for  victory ;  and,  in  the 
man  who  is  truly  strong,  it  expresses  itself  in 
every  part  of  his  life,  giving  unity  and  sym- 
metry to  his  manhood.  In  his  physical  nature 
it  shows  in  the  enthusiasm  for  a  strong  physi- 
cal life ;  in  his  intellectual  and  emotional  nature 
it  shows  in  the  intensity  of  his  worthy  ambi- 
tions and  affections ;  in  his  spiritual  nature  it 
shows  in  his  aspiration  to  rise  above  aU  that  is 

1  Kom.  xiv.  7. 


332  THE   GLORY   OF   YOUNG   MEN. 

unworthy  of  a  child  of  God,  and  to  attam  a 
true  communion  and  fellowship  of  daily  life 
with  the  Life  of  God.  Thus,  in  the  highest 
and  fullest  sense,  the  glory  of  young  men  is 
their  strength ;  that  love  of  victory,  that  en- 
thusiasm for  the  thought  of  overcoming,  that 
hio'h-minded  earnestness  which  fits  them,  in 
proportion  as  they  Hve  a  normal  life,  to  cope 
wdth  the  difficulties  that  are  the  peculiar  trial 
and  discipline  of  their  time  of  age.  I  look 
with  unalterable  and  unspeakable  affection 
upon  yo\ing  men.  I  cannot  but  feel  that  my 
companionship  with  them  has  in  some  faint 
desree  enabled  me  to  realize  their  sorrows  and 
their  joys,  their  failures  and  their  victories. 
And  it  is  because  a  most  tender  feeling  goes 
forth  ahke  to  those  who  seem  in  any  part  of 
their  life  to  lack  their  due  proportion  of  that 
strength,  that  earnestness  which  is  the  glory  of 
young  men,  and  to  those  who  are  with  any 
measure  of  completeness  showing  it  forth,  I 
desire  also  to  speak  a  few  words  concerning 
the  Destroyers  and  the  Makers  of  Earnestness. 
What  are  the  great  Destroyers  of  Earnest- 
ness? Is  not  one  of  them  Self-indulgence? 
Does  a  man  realize  the  extent  of  the  damage 
he  is  doing  to  his  manhood  wdien  he  yields 
himself   up  to  a  lax   and  self-indulgent  life? 


THE   GLORY  OF  YOUNG  MEN.  333 

No !  surely  he  does  not  realize  it,  or  he  would 
never  do  it.  It  cannot  be  that  he  knows  how, 
all  the  way  on  through  the  coming  years,  he 
must  take  a  lower  place  than  he  might  have 
taken,  and  live  a  weaker  life  than  he  might 
have  lived,  because  of  this,  and  this,  and  this, 
in  which  he  has  sluggishly  and  idly  permitted 
habits  of  self-indulgence  to  fasten  themselves 
like  barnacles  upon  him. 

Is  not  another  Destroyer  of  Earnestness  the 
severing  of  principle  from  life-work  ?  What 
will  more  completely  kill  earnestness,  and  rob 
young  manhood  of  its  peculiar,  high-minded 
strength,  than  the  inner  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing left  moral  principle  behind  on  entering 
one's  life  work  ;  of  having  made  one's  business 
life  a  mere  wage-earning  and  not  a  calling,  in 
which,  whatever  it  may  be,  one  is  striving  in 
every  sense  of  the  word  "  to  be  true  to  the  best 
one  knows  "  ?  "  No  man  can  serve  two  masters  : 
for  either  he  will  hate  the  one  and  love  the 
other,  or  else  he  will  hold  to  the  one  and  de- 
spise the  other."  ^  Christ  has  said  this  to  us, 
and  who  does  not  know  in  his  own  heart  that 
it  is  true  \  To  do  business  on  any  other  basis 
than  that  of  the  highest  principle  one  knows, 
is  to  strike  a  death-blow  at  the  earnestness  of 
character. 

1  St.  Matt.  vi.  24. 


334  THE  GLORY  OF  YOUNG  MEN. 

And  is  not  another  Destroyer  of  Earnestness 
the  surrender  of  our  ideals?  How  many  a 
man  has  surrendered  his  ideals  simply  because 
others  told  him  they  were  too  high !  And  that 
which  makes  it  such  a  temptation  to  men  to 
surrender  their  ideals,  and  so  to  lose  then* 
strength,  is  that  they  have  not  yet  seen  the 
True  Ideal  clearly ;  they  lack  a  clear  view 
of  Him  Who  is  the  Only  True  Ideal  of  char- 
acter. Christ  is  not  before  their  eyes  as  their 
Master,  Saviour,  Friend,  and  Example.  If  He 
were  so  before  their  eyes  and  in  their  thoughts, 
they  would  not  find  it  so  easy  to  surrender  the 
ideal ;  for  following  Him  in  preference  to  fol- 
lowing the  base  notions  of  unspiritual  minds 
would  be  found  such  a  joyous  and  comforting 
thing  amidst  the  hardships  and  temptations  of 
the  world,  they  would  not,  at  any  price,  sur- 
render the  One  Whose  power  had  made  life 
worth  living. 

And  what  are  some  of  the  Makers  of  Ear- 
nestness, the  Makers  of  Strength  ?  One  is  the 
acceptance  of  hardship  as  part  of  the  contract ; 
another  is  the  thought  of  all  those  who  have 
overcome. 

One  is,  I  say,  the  acceptance  of  hardship  as 
part  of  the  contract.    "  Thou,  therefore,  endure 


THE   GLORY   OF  YOUXG  MEN.  335 

hardness,  as  a  good  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ."  ^ 
A  man  shrinks  from  breaking  off  a  physical 
habit  because  it  means  hardship ;  he  shrinks 
from  noble  intellectual  training,  because  it 
means  hardship ;  he  shrinks  from  coming 
bravely  forth  and  acknowledmiof  himself  to 
be  a  true  soldier  of  Christ,  because  it  means 
hardship.  Of  course  it  means  hardship  ;  but 
what  then  ?  Let  him  accept  hardship  as  part 
of  the  contract,  and  he  has  discovered  one  of 
the  deepest  secrets  of  moral  earnestness.  He 
has  caug^ht  Christ's  meaninGr"  when  He  said : 
"  In  the  world  ye  shall  have  pressure ;  but  be 
of  good  cheer,  I  have  overcome  the  world."  ^ 

And  let  him  think,  oh,  let  him  think !  of  all 
those  who  have  overcome.  Let  him  remember 
how  many  a  young  man  in  times  past  has  gone 
up  this  noble  path  before  him.  He  is  not  the 
first ;  no,  nor  will  he  be  the  last.  He  is  only 
one  brave,  true  heart;  only  one  clean,  strong 
hfe,  of  all  who  have  been,  of  all  who  shall  be, 
of  the  younger  soldiers,  serving  Christ  fear- 
lessly in  the  glory  of  their  strength.     Amen. 

1  2  Tim.  ii.  3. 

2  St.  Jno.  xvi.  33  (Latin  version). 


XX. 

THE  INTERPRETER. 


7 


XX. 

THE  INTERPRETER. 

Preached  at  the  Hill  School,  Pottstown,  Pa., 
June  21,  1891. 

"  An  interpreter  :  one  among  a  thousand."  —  Job  xxxiii.  23. 

As  I  stand  in  your  midst  once  more,  dear 
younger  brothers  of  the  Hill  School,  my  heart 
fills  with  hope,  with  joy,  and  with  desire.  I 
pray  that  it  may  not  be  in  vain  I  speak  to  you 
this  day  about  the  highest  of  all  calhngs. 
What  is  the  highest  of  all  callings  ?  You  see 
a  thousand  people  fighting  the  battle  of  life ; 
some  are  gaining,  some  are  losing,  some  are 
rising,  some  are  stumbling.  You  look  in  their 
faces,  and  they  are  the  faces  of  the  average. 
You  look  in  their  lives,  and  they  are  the  lives 
of  the  average,  filled  up  with  the  usual  things. 
But  at  last  you  find  one  face  and  one  life  that 
differs  from  the  rest.  How  ?  In  that  face 
there  is  more  of  the  shining  of  the  Light  of 
God ;  in  that  face  there  is  more  of  the  mark 
of  higher  thought  and  larger  purpose ;  in  that 
life  there  is  a  power  :  what  power  ?   the  power 


340  THE  INTERPRETER. 

to  make  others  think  laro^er  thouo^hts  and  live 
larger  lives.  Among  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  faces,  and  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
lives,  that  one  face,  that  one  Kfe,  shines  like 
a  beautiful  hght.  You  forget  others,  you  re- 
member it.  What  will  you  call  that  face,  — 
that  life  ?  Call  it  "  an  interpreter,  one  among 
a  thousand."  To  be  an  interpreter,  —  to  be 
the  one,  among  a  thousand,  to  whom  it  is 
given  to  think  out  some  thought  which  others 
have  not  understood;  to  live  out  some  truth 
which  others  have  not  grasped ;  to  lind  out 
some  power  which  others  have  not  known ;  to 
hold  out  some  light  which  others  have  not  per- 
ceived, and  so  to  make  the  meaning  of  life 
clearer  and  the  way  of  life  brighter  for  some 
of  the  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nme,  —  this  is 
the  hio'hest  of  all  callincrs. 

"  An  interpreter,  one  among  a  thousand."  I 
vA^h.  to-day  to  say  four  things  about  the  inter- 
preter. First,  he  is  one  of  God's  instruments. 
Second,  he  is  always  needed  in  the  world. 
Third,  he  must  be  trained.  Fourth,  he  must 
be  called. 

The  interpreter  is  one  of  God's  instruments. 
God  teaches  the  many  through  the  few.  He 
takes  one  among  a  thousand,  whispers  a  truth 
in  his  ear,  and  sets  him  to  tell  it  to  the  nine 


THE  INTERPRETER,  341 

hundred  and  ninety-nine.  The  highest,  grand- 
est knowledge  the  world  has  to-day  has  come 
to  it  through  interpreters ;  the  thousand  did 
not  find  it  out  for  themselves,  God  whispered 
His  great  thought  to  the  one,  and  the  one  ex- 
plained it  to  the  many.  If  you  look  into  the 
history  of  the  higher  forms  of  human  know- 
ledge you  will  find  that  the  knowledge  which 
to-day  is  the  property  of  all  intelligent  people 
came  through  the  interpreters,  the  few  among 
the  thousands  who,  in  one  dej)artment  and  an- 
other, caught  the  meaning  of  some  hitherto 
undiscovered  truth  and  told  that  meaning  forth 
to  men. 

Let  me  illustrate  this  from  the  fields  of  sci- 
ence and  art.  Darwin  was  an  interpreter,  one 
among  a  thousand ;  it  was  given  to  him  to  see 
the  meaning  of  that  struggle  for  existence,  for- 
ever going  on  in  the  animal  kingdom,  through 
which  the  evolution  of  species  proceeds  through 
a  long  series  of  upward  or  downward  steps.  And 
the  truth  that  was  whispered  in  his  ear,  by  Him 
Who  is  the  Source  of  all  wisdom,  he  inter- 
preted to  thousands  upon  thousands  of  eager 
minds.  Edison  is  an  interpreter,  one  among  a 
thousand.  It  was  given  to  him  to  see  a  new 
w^orld  of  possibility  in  the  applications  to  hu- 
man enterprises  of  that  mysterious  element  of 


342  THE   INTERPRETER. 

electricity.  What  lie  saw,  what  was  Avhispered 
in  his  ear,  he  has  explained  to  his  fellow-men. 
Beethoven  was  an  interpreter,  one  among  a 
thousand.  He  was  a  creative  musician.  God 
whispered  in  his  ear,  deaf  as  it  was  to  earthly 
sound,  new  possibilities  of  musical  expression, 
and  his  writings  became,  to  countless  human 
minds,  interpretations  of  emotions  and  aspira- 
tions previously  unexpressed.  Wordsworth  Avas 
an  interpreter,  one  among  a  thousand.  Until 
his  time,  few  people  had  thought  much  about 
the  beauties  of  nature  as  expressions  of  the 
glorious  life  and  love  of  God.  But  God  whis- 
pered in  Wordsworth's  ear  that  new  and  higher 
view  of  the  meaning  of  nature,  its  trees  and 
flowers,  its  lakes,  its  mountains,  its  "  traiHng 
clouds,"  and  the  thought  that  was  given  him 
he  interpreted  to  his  fellow-men  ;  and  the  influ- 
ence of  his  interpretation  we  all  feel  to  some 
extent ;  for  that  admiration  and  love  of  nature 
which  is  so  strong  in  us  is  to  be  traced  back  to 
the  influences  that  were  set  at  work  in  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking world  when  Wordsworth's  poems 
unfolded  the  long-unappreciated  beauties  of  the 
earth. 

But  when  we  turn  from  these  great  in- 
terpreters of  science  and  art  to  those  still 
greater  who  have  interpreted  to  mankind   the 


THE  INTERPRETER.  343 

very  Nature  of  God,  we  find  how  true  it  is  that 
God  chooses  to  teach  the  many  through  the 
few.  The  apostle  Paul  was  an  interpreter,  one 
among  a  thousand ;  an  interpreter  of  the  Per- 
son and  work  of  Christ.  God  whispered  in  his 
soul  the  real  essence  of  the  truth  of  the  gos- 
pel, which  is  Jesus  Christ  and  Him  crucified,  — 
the  mystery  which  had  been  hid  from  ages  and 
generations,  the  power  of  Christ's  Blood  to  take 
away  sin  ;  and  Paul  interpreted  the  gospel  in 
that  series  of  letters  which  for  almost  nineteen 
hundred  years  have  been  the  guidebook  of 
men  upon  this  subject.  The  apostle  John  was 
an  interpreter,  one  among  a  thousand,  an  in- 
terpreter of  the  love  of  God.  Christ  gave  him 
such  a  glorious  training  by  choosing  him  to  be 
His  Own  dearest  friend,  by  loving  him  as  only 
one  great  soul  can  love  another ;  and  the  mes- 
sage was  whispered  in  the  very  depths  of  the 
soul  of  John,  "  God  is  love,"  and  he  through 
his  epistle  and  gospel  is  interpreting  that  truth 
to-day  to  thousands  upon  thousands  of  souls, 
for  whom  it  is  putting  a  new  meaning  into 
life,  and  a  new  motive  also.  But  I  must  go 
one  step  higher  yet ;  I  must  remind  you  that 
Christ  is  an  Interpreter,  the  Interpreter  to  our 
understandings  of  the  Nature  and  Character  of 
the  invisible  God.     John  wrote  of  Him  these 


344  THE  INTERPRETER. 

wondrous  words :  "  No  man  hath  seen  God  at 
any  time  :  the  Only  Begotten  Son,  which  is  in 
the  bosom  of  the  Father,  He  hath  declared 
Him."  The  Greek  word  for  "  declared  "  might 
well  be  translated  "interpreted."  Christ  by 
taking  upon  Him  our  nature,  and  by  manifest- 
ing Himself  before  men,  interpreted  to  us  the 
Nature  and  Character  of  the  unseen  Father,  so 
that  He  says,  "  He  that  hath  seen  Me  hath  seen 
the  Father." 

Now,  my  younger  brothers,  I  have  carried 
you  up  to  the  highest  illustration  of  the  truth 
that  the  interpreter  is  one  of  God's  instru- 
ments, and  that  so  God  has  ever  taught  the 
many  through  the  few.  I  will  only  say  fur- 
ther on  this  point  that  it  is  true  to-day  as  ever 
it  was.  To-day  we  see  the  interpreter,  the  one 
among  a  thousand.  We  see  him  wherever 
any  human  soul,  having  more  of  God's  light 
upon  it  and  more  of  life's  meaning  revealed  to 
it  than  those  around  it  have,  is  thinking  out 
some  thought  which  others  have  not  under- 
stood, is  hving  out  some  truth  which  others 
have  not  grasped,  is  finding  out  some  power 
which  others  have  not  known,  is  holding  out 
some  light  which  others  have  not  perceived, 
and  so  is  making  the  meaning  of  life  clearer 
and  the  way  of  life  brighter  for  some  of  the 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine. 


THE  INTERPRETER.  345 

The  interpreter  is  always  needed  in  the 
world.  Not  infrequently  it  happens  in  the 
world  of  labor  that  men  are  thrown  out  of  em- 
ployment through  changes  in  the  way  of  doing 
thmgs :  when  the  steam-power  loom  was  in- 
vented, it  threw  the  workers  of  the  hand-loom 
out  of  business ;  when  the  railway  mail  service 
was  invented,  it  threw  the  old  mounted  mail- 
carriers  out  of  business.  But  the  interpreter 
is  always  needed  in  the  world.  He  into  whose 
ear  God  has  whispered  the  deeper,  grander 
meaning  of  life  ;  he  who  is  able  to  show  in  fiis 
own  person  a  wiser,  loftier,  usefuUer  way  of 
living,  —  is  always  needed  ;  there  is  always  a 
place  for  him,  there  is  always  a  work  for  him, 
for  he  is  an  interpreter,  one  among  a  thousand. 
Yes,  younger  brother,  if  God  shall  whisper  in 
your  ear  that  which  shall  make  you  in  any 
sense  an  interpreter,  if  He  shall  fill  you  with 
any  thought  that  others  have  not  understood, 
you  will  realize,  when  an  experience  of  the 
world  has  become  yours,  when  a  knowledge  of 
its  sin,  its  selfishness,  its  unbelief  has  dawned 
upon  you,  you  will  realize  that  amidst  the  myri- 
ads of  men  and  women  and  children  that  crowd 
the  cities  and  spread  over  the  country,  that 
surge  by  you  in  the  streets,  that  throng  you 
in  the  railway  trains,  that  buy  and  sell,   and 


346  THE   INTERPRETER. 

laugh  and  weep,  that  stand  and  fall,  that  sing 
and  suffer,  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  out 
of  the  thousand  do  not  seem  to  know  what  the 
true  meaning  of  Hfe  is.  Their  eyes  are  set  on 
other  things  than  the  glory  of  the  service  of 
God.  Their  ears  are  filled  with  other  sounds 
than  the  wdiispers  of  the  Voice  of  God.  Their 
hands  are  oftener  closed  with  grasping  than 
opened  for  helping.  And  what  they  need  is  an 
interpreter,  one  among  a  thousand,  who  has 
seen  wdth  the  eyes  of  faith  a  grander  way  of 
living,  who  has  heard  with  the  ears  of  love 
the  sound  of  greater  music ;  they  need  an  in- 
terpreter to  tell  them  the  meaning  of  life. 
But  this  is  not  all.  You  will  find  not  only 
how  few  know  the  meaning  of  life,  you  will 
find  how  few  know  how  to  live.  The  nine 
hundi'ed  and  ninety-nine  do  not  know  how  to 
take  care  of  their  bodies,  how  to  take  care  of 
their  minds,  how  to  take  care  of  their  spirits. 
The  reason  they  do  not  realize  the  meaning  of 
life,  and  the  glory  of  the  service  of  God,  is  be- 
cause they  have  let  themselves  in  some  way  go 
to  waste.  They  have  wasted  themselves  physi- 
cally, by  breaking  laws  of  nature  and  permit- 
ting unchecked  indulgences ;  or  they  have 
wasted  themselves  mentally,  by  refusing  the 
discipline  of  the  mind  and  surrendering  their 


THE  INTERPRETER.  347 

intellects  to  weak  and  trivial  influences ;  or 
they  have  wasted  themselves  spiritually,  by  re- 
sisting the  Spirit  of  God  and  loving*  darkness 
rather  than  light.  And  what  they  need  is  an 
interpreter,  —  some  one  in  whose  ear  God  has 
whispered  the  sanctity  of  the  body,  and  the 
holy  care  of  it ;  the  dignity  of  the  mind  and 
the  broader  culture  of  it ;  the  glory  of  the 
human  spirit,  and  its  fellowship  with  the  Spirit 
of  God.  Yes,  the  interpreter  will  never  be 
thrown  out  of  business.  The  ways  of  doing 
things  may  change ;  the  laws  of  trade  may 
change ;  the  canons  of  literature  may  change ; 
the  modus  oj^erancU  of  science  may  change,  — 
but  a  place  for  him  always  remains,  a  need  for 
him  always  exists :  as  long  as  the  generations 
of  men  are  born,  he  is  needed  in  whose  ear 
God  has  whispered  the  true  meaning  of  life 
and  the  true  way  of  life,  that  he  may  inter- 
pret these  to  the  nine  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine. 

The  interpreter  must  be  trained.  He  is 
a  specialist ;  he  is  one  among  a  thousand. 
His  calling  is  to  show  to  some  fellow-being, 
perhaps  to  many,  new  light  in  the  science  of 
living.  This  he  cannot  do  unless,  like  every 
specialist,  he  knows  more  in  his  department 
than  the  average  know.      Like  every  special- 


348  THE  INTERPRETER. 

ist,  then,  lie  must  be  trained.  The  question 
then,  is,  What  is  the  training  of  an  interpre- 
ter ?  In  answering  this  question  let  us  bear  in 
mind  what  this  interpreter  is  to  do ;  bearing 
this  in  mind,  it  is  easy  to  say  what  his  training 
is  to  be.  Now  what  is  he  to  do  ?  He  is  to  be 
one  whose  life,  in  its  spirit  and  in  its  method, 
is  to  be  the  means  of  showing  other  people 
what  the  meaning  of  life  is,  and  what  the  best 
way  to  live  is.  Consequently  the  training  of 
this  interpreter  must  be,  I  should  say,  these 
three  things :  to  know  himself,  to  know  the 
meaning  of  life,  and  to  walk  with  God. 

To  know  himself,  —  this  is  part  of  the  train- 
ing of  an  interpreter.  He  who  does  not  un- 
derstand himself  is  not  likely  to  be  one  through 
whose  influence  others  learn  to  understand 
themselves.  The  interpreter  of  life  is  a  close 
student  of  his  own  life ;  he  studies  the  forces 
that  are  at  work  in  himself  ;  he  studies  himself 
as  if  he  were  some  one  else ;  he  acknowledges 
that  his  own  being  is  a  great  mystery  of  con- 
trary forces  ;  but  he  says,  with  God's  help,  "  I 
propose  to  understand  this  mystery,  to  see  the 
relation  of  these  contrary  forces  which  are  in 
me,  to  find  the  clue  which  will  bring  order  out 
of  this  confusion,  and  peace  out  of  this  great 
unrest." 


THE  INTERPRETER.  349 

To  know  the  meaning  of  life,  —  this  is  part 
of  the  training  of  an  interpreter.  What  is  the 
meaning  of  Hf e  ?  The  meaning  of  life  is  the 
service  of  God,  in  thought,  in  word,  and  in 
deed.  How  can  the  interpreter  interpret  the 
meaning  of  life  to  others  unless  he  is  perfectly 
sure  of  what  the  meaning  of  hfe  is?  This, 
then,  is  part  of  his  training  :  to  realize  the  ser- 
vice of  God  in  all  thoughts,  in  all  words,  in  all 
deeds ;  to  be  constantly  under  the  influence  of 
the  idea  that  life  means  the  service  of  God  ;  to 
accustom  himself  to  the  idea  until  he  takes  it 
into  account  continually  in  making  all  his  deci- 
sions, in  conducting  all  his  operations,  in  using 
and  caring  for  his  body,  his  mind,  and  his  spirit, 
from  day  to  day. 

To  walk  with  God,  —  this  is  part  of  the  train- 
ing of  an  interpreter.  He  is  to  make  God  real 
to  others  as  the  object  of  service  in  thought, 
in  word,  and  in  deed.  How  can  he  make  God 
real  to  others  unless  God  is  real  to  himself? 
And  how  can  God  be  real  to  himself  unless  he 
walks  with  God  in  his  own  daily  life ;  unless 
he  keeps  up  a  constant,  earnest,  truthful  fellow- 
ship with  God  ?  Unless  he  walks  with  God  in 
his  own  secret  life,  he  cannot  be  an  interpreter 
of  God  and  of  life.  He  will  become  only  one 
of  the  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  who   do 


350  THE  INTERPRETER. 

not  walk  with  God,  and  who  are  not  interpre- 
ters ;  and  some  one  else  God  will  choose  for  an 
interpreter,  whispering  in  his  ear. 

Yes,  the  interpreter  must  be  trained ;  while 
he  is  still  young,  while  he  has  still  time,  and 
before  the  evil  days  come  when  manhood's 
heart  is  hardened,  he  must  be  trained  to  know 
himself,  to  know  the  meaning  of  Hfe,  to  walk 
with  God. 

The  interpreter  must  be  called.  Perhaps 
you  think  I  have  got  things  in  the  wrong  or- 
der ;  that  I  should  have  put  the  calling  before 
the  training.  I  think  not.  If  we  had  to  be 
sure  of  our  callinof  before  we  went  into  train- 
ing,  not  many  would  go  into  training.  But  we 
are  sure  that  we  cannot  be  interpreters  unless 
we  are  trained  to  know  ourselves,  to  know  the 
meaning  of  life,  to  walk  mth  God.  Therefore 
we  give  ourselves  to  this  glorious  training,  and 
we  leave  the  calling  with  God,  trusting  Him 
to  call  us  whither  He  will,  and  to  make  us  in- 
terpreters of  life  whensoever  He  will,  and  to 
whomsoever  He  will.  And  I  think  the  o^reat- 
est  thing  about  this  calling  to  be  an  interpreter 
is,  one  may  have  it  unconsciously.  I  know  that 
some  of  those  who  have  interpreted  to  me  the 
meaning  of  life,  and  the  nobler  ways  of  living, 
were    unconscious   of    their  call.     They  knew 


THE  INTERPRETER.  351 

not  that  they  were  God's  interpreters.  They 
only  thought  of  then-  training.  With  lowly, 
loving,  and  obedient  hearts  they  were  seeking 
to  know  themselves,  to  know  the  meaning  of 
life  and  truthfully  to  walk  with  God ;  but  the 
calling  was  on  them,  though  they  knew  it  not, 
and  by  living  they  revealed  to  others  the  way 
to  live. 

I  look  before  me  upon  this  group  of  boyish 
faces ;  I  follow  you  forth  into  the  years  that 
widen  before  you.  I  ask  myself  with  deepest 
curiosity.  Who  among  them  will  be  interpre- 
ters? As  I  ask,  there  rise  before  my  mental 
vision  three  pictures  from  the  olden  time,  which 
tell  me  what  forms  of  interpretation  may  be  in 
store  for  some  of  you,  —  the  calling  of  one 
and  another.  I  see  the  palace  of  Pharaoh  in 
the  kingdom  of  Egypt.  I  see  fear  and  distress 
written  on  the  countenance  of  the  king.  A 
dream  has  burned  itself  upon  his  imagination, 
the  import  of  which  he  cannot  grasp,  and  none 
of  the  magicians  in  his  court  can  tell  him  what 
it  means.  I  see  the  free-hearted,  white-souled 
Joseph  summoned  before  the  throne,  and  the 
royal  dreamer  pleading  with  him :  ^'  I  have 
dreamed  a  dream,  and  there  is  none  that  can 
interpret  it,  and  I  have  heard  say  of  thee  that 
thou  canst  understand  a  dream  to  interpret  it." 


352  THE  INTERPRETER. 

I  hear  the  modest  answer  of  the  young  inter- 
preter :  "  It  is  not  in  me  ;  God  shall  give  Pha- 
raoh an  answer  of  peace."  ^  Younger  brothers, 
shall  it  be  the  calling  of  some  of  you  to  go  forth, 
and  like  Joseph,  by  God's  help,  interpret  to  men 
their  own  thoughts  ?  Souls  to-day  are  dream- 
ing dreams  whose  import  they  do  not  under- 
stand ;  thinking  confusedly,  catching  ghmpses 
of  truth  amidst  forests  of  error.  Shall  one  of 
you  help  others  to  read  the  meaning  of  their 
thoughts,  to  understand  the  message  of  God's 
Spirit  in  their  own  hearts  ? 

I  see  another  picture.  It  also  is  the  picture 
of  a  palace,  —  a  hall  filled  with  revelry,  —  the 
banquet  of  the  dissolute  Belshazzar.  He  sits,  a 
spectacle  of  despair,  his  knees  smiting  together 
with  fear,  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  handwriting 
that  has  suddenly  appeared  upon  the  wall.  To 
tell  him  its  meaning  his  own  astrologers  are 
powerless.  He  turns  to  the  fearless  youth  of 
Daniel  and  cries :  "  I  have  heard  of  thee,  that 
thou  canst  make  interpretations  and  dissolve 
doubts  ;  now,  if  thou  canst  read  the  writings, 
and  make  known  to  me  the  interpretation  there- 
of, thou  shalt  be  clothed  with  scarlet  and  have 
a  chain  of  gold  about  thy  neck,  and  shalt  be  the 
third  ruler  in  the  kingdom."  ^     And  Daniel, 

1  Gen.  xli.  1-43.  2  Pan.  v.  1-30. 


THE  INTERPRETER,  353 

girded  with  the  courage  of  God,  has  strength  to 
tell  that  man  of  sin  the  meaning  of  the  hand- 
writing on  the  wall ;  that  he  has  destroyed  him- 
self, that  he  has  been  weighed  in  the  balance  and 
found  wanting,  that  he  must  reap  what  he  has 
sown.  Younger  brothers,  shall  it  be  the  calling 
of  some  of  you  to  go  forth,  and  like  Daniel,  speak 
plainly  to  men  about  their  sinful  lives,  inter- 
pret to  men  who  are  hving  in  sin  the  warnings 
of  God,  tell  them  that  the  life  of  mdulgence 
shall  be  weighed  and  found  wanting,  snatch 
men  from  their  self-destroymg  ways,  as  brands 
from  the  burning  ? 

I  see  one  other  picture ;  not  a  palace,  but 
a  country  roadside ;  not  the  glare  of  mid- 
night lamps,  but  the  sweet  radiance  of  a 
Lord's  Day  afternoon :  three  men  are  there ; 
two  with  burning  hearts  are  listening;  One, 
with  the  light  of  the  Kesurrection  in  His 
Divine  Face,  is  preaching  and  interpreting  the 
Holy  Scriptures  ;  and  underneath  my  picture  of 
the  Emmaus  road  it  is  written,  "  And  begin- 
ning at  Moses  and  all  the  prophets.  He  ex- 
pounded unto  them  in  all  the  Scriptures  the 
things  concerning  Himself."  ^  Younger  bro- 
thers, shall  it  be  the  calling  of  some  of  you, 
even  like  Him  Who  rose  from  the  dead,  to  go 

1  St.  Lk.  xxiv.  13-32. 


354  THE  INTERPRETER. 

forth  and  walk  by  the  side  of  your  fellow-men, 
and  open  their  understandings  that  they  may 
understand  the  Scriptures,  that  they  may  grasp 
the  thino's  that  concern  Christ  ? 

o 

To  the  Christian  boys  in  this  school  I  would 
say  this  closing  word.  In  this  world,  which 
knows  so  little  of  Jesus  Christ,  each  Christian 
is  called  to  be  an  interpreter  of  Christ,  —  one 
among  a  thousand.  In  the  Gospel  of  Matthew 
it  is  written  of  our  Lord,  "They  shall  call 
His  Name  Emmanuel,  which  being  interpreted 
is,  God  with  us."  ^  The  Name  of  Emmanuel  is 
borne  by  those  of  you  who  have  confessed  Christ. 
That  Name,  being  interpreted,  means  "  God  with 
us."  It  is  for  each  of  you  to  interpret  that 
Name  to  men ;  to  show,  by  the  truth,  by  the 
pureness,  by  the  strength  of  your  hves,  that  to 
be  a  Christian  means,  being  interpreted,  "  God 
with  us."     Amen. 

1  St.  Matt.  i.  23. 


Princeton  Theologica'  Semmary-Speer  Librai 

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